^, 



^~~^—m^ 




m 



*J 



A A* A A 



;**** 



^a^^aAaAAaAaOAaO^^ 



AAA; 



aa^AAa' 



VnA^A 



aAa^aa 






nr%/^s£\AA a aaC 



TTArTTAiMftKnudHftiBnbisnRB 



ymvm 1 ^^^ 



?m?mw ~>/"l A » 



AAA*. 



^A^A^OOSSSSil?: 



' 



~ A "*« V.'-' A^ 



™nw: 



/ 7 



r\ '"> >v 

fW^A*2rftfin ' A aaAAAAaAm/V^" „ a a* a 



a 

iAAA A A 



M^^$W> 



AaAA^A? 



-\ - ^ - A /> A 



$2Mv£ 



faWtiffl* ^mW^vW 









LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. » 

. . # 

^£^ .,..A.LS 7 



! AaA'. 



i^s^s 



AAoA 



mm^:k* 



^ ?.:'■,:., S £A * 



|5 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. % 






"^^^ .. a ,^* / VAAa, 



■aa^Aa^AA'Ia' ' A ^AAa/>A_ a a 



^vvWw\ 



AA/V A, 



t !y!?m?mm* r m^ 



J*^a.aA a aa£a 
,AA^AA r ' :AA n 



"^^^AAa^^AAaAAa 



,*A^ 






a ~ a a A A A " /A „ . a A a. . 



a a / ' ^ 



/A*™ M aA, a . 



AaA 



MAAa. 



A a ' '■. ^ ~ ■ _ - ~ a A . - '" 



aMVWVV^WW^ 



|;aMaaA^ aa A(A* 



:::^L^^m* ,,a*aaaAA^a^ AA .-.. 



^ ^A'AftAnAAA.. 



«aAAaAA*A: 









, a ,^^^^^aAaaaa^ a AA aaAAaOm 



,A^ 



:l!rJ2LU-l 



-A*AA ^ r *A,,,^A 

A * 

A, a * a A . ^ 

.^A A A JaA ' ^ * ■■ 



AAA ! ™« 



^^AAaAAAAa^O^C^^ 



HrtfftftfWlW 



' A „ A * * ^ „ * * , , * ■* © 

. a A r ~ C A a ■* A -A .n ; " a * A ' ' A A : A a 



A a a AaAA^/ 

A ft ft* A A - - S A ft ft ? C> ^ " " 



ft A A a A A , 

- % > a. : » a A ^ a 






: aA^A / tW 



.aIIaaaA 






A . . A ~ . A A . * A . ^ A . ' - „ ^ - '." J A 



^fl.^ArtAAA^.^^0 A* a .a.a? W^A** 






«. A " A ' /-> A A 



»a/ • .»a^/,: 



^AA'-'^ 



^^. 



nw\ 






A A ,, 



*\AA^ i 



Z^^*^-^ 



'a A ^ A aAAA* jaa.; '' 

.A ,^A.,A.MAA*A; A ^;VV 



,V^.-^/o^^^^^^ 



WMMMAaaAaaAAAaaAaA V/T^ A ^ £ «2^2 



^q/.,p 



* £ A A ^ A ~ ~ ~ - 



- ^ " fe A A ■ " A • A - ' 



A Aa"~ 

>aa?aaaaAa,aAaaAAh 



, . ^.^ ■ 



1 A ^ A A 



a A-AaAaAAaa/A 



. a 



aaaAaJ 



fe*wfeJ2K^KKra 



■ A ~~ ^ 

A * • 'Ay 






vaaaAh, 



! ^aaAAaAaA 



AAAAA/yy\AAA. 



.a a.AaAHaAaA ''/AAA'r\ ,A C : /\A 

A' A .^A -,_-■„ , A - - - - ' - 

A ' - ' „ -- ' 

-s ' -^ -, - * A A a A/A. 

- - * - * A o 

\ A. A '• 

r 



A A*AA ; ft-* ft ' ' N 



AaAAaaaAa, 



^AaaAAaaAa^a '' .^A^'/Aa^ 



VAAAa A aA a 



aA 'aaAA^'AAaa'aaA 7 ?'* 



^^ 



. - 7 






AAA* 



tfvyflOM 



^AAAA^^^^^g^ 



- - ^•Ae^sR* ^4pA*-: 

a A a A ", A A r WiAA - "* a aaAaaA'^a 



Ja a o£#^ : - 

a a Aa^aAA^aAA^^ 

30 f A/a * a a aA a . a A a Aa wO A aS a K$ a a a A a! 

'«v - A ' A. A ^ A A - 






"> . A 

A i A A £ f 



^M^m^M 



mfa 



SA- ■ . . . aaaaAaAaAAA'V a..,.\m .AAA.AAQU A,L : AA^^-r.. «. , 



'^a^AAaAAA^^^ 



JS A -'-Ac 



A A" A' 



iAmaAAaaaAa^. 



^*M 



'^ n ^%^A^^AA^;, 



AAAiAAAAAAfr.**, 'J 






SHAKESPEARE'S 



PLAY 



A WINTER'S TALE 



EDITED BY 



HOWAED STAUNTON 









ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN GILBERT 



NEW YORK 
HENRY L. HINTON, PUBLISHER 

680 BROADWAY 



1870 

ex-* 



/ 




THE WINTER'S TALE. 



The first edition of this play known is that of the folio, 1623 ; and the earliest notice of its 
performance is an entry in the manuscript Diary (Mus. Ashmol. Oxon.) of Dr. Simon Forman, 
who thus describes the plot of the piece, which he witnessed at the Globe Theatre, May 15th, 
1611 :— 

" Observe ther ho we Lyontes the Kinge of Cicillia was overcom with jelosy of his wife with the 
Kinge of Bohemia, his frind, that came to see him, and ho we he contrived his death, and wold 
have had his cup-berer to have poisoned, who gave the Kinge of Bohemia warning thereof and 
fled with him to Bohemia. 

" Remember also howe he sent to the orakell of Apollo, and the aunswer of Apollo that she 
was giltless, and that the kinge was jelouse, &c, and howe, except the child was found againe 
that was loste, the kinge should die without yssue ; for the child was caried into Bohemia, and 
there laid in a forrest, and brought up by a sheppard, and the Kinge of Bohemia, his sonn 
married that wentch: and howe they fled into Cicillia to Leontes, and the sheppard having 
showed [by] the letter of the nobleman whom Leontes sent, it was that child, and [by] the Jewells 
found about her, she was knowen to be Leontes daughter, and was then 16. yers old. 

" Remember also the rog [rogue] that cam in all tottered like roll pixci * and howe he fayned 
him sicke and to have him robbed of all that he had, and howe he cosoned the por man of all his 
money, and after cam to the shop ther [sheep sheer ?] with a pedlers packe, and ther cosened 
them again of all their money ; and how he changed apparell with the Kinge of Bomia, his 
I sonn, and then how he turned courtier, &c. Beware of trustinge feined beggars or fawninge 
fellouse."f 

In the same year, as we learn from a record in the Accounts of the Revels at Court, it was 
acted at Whitehall : — 

"The kings The 5th of November : A play called 

players. ye winters nightes Tayle." 

[1611.] 

The accounts of Lord Harrington, Treasurer of the Chamber to James I., show that it was 
again acted at Court, before Prince Charles, the Lady Elizabeth, and the Prince Palatine 
Elector, in May, 1613. 

And it is further mentioned in the Office Book of Sir Henry Herbert, Master of the Revels, 
under the date of August the 19th, 1623 : — 

" For the kings players. An olde playe called Winters Tale, formerly allowed of by Sir George 
Bucke and likewyse by mee on Mr. Hemminges his worde that there was nothing prophane added 
or reformed, thogh the allowed booke was missing : and therefore I returned it without a fee, this 
19th of August, 1623." 



* This was no doubt some noted vagabond, whose nick- 
same has not come down to us correctly. Mr. Collier prints 
it, «' Coll Pipci." * - 

195 2 



t From a carefully executed copy made from the original 
by Mr. Halliwell. 



PRELIMINARY NOTICE. 

From these facts Mr. Collier infers, and his inference is strengthened by the style of the 
language and the structure of the verse, that " The Winter's Tale " was a novelty at the time 
Forman saw it played at the Globe, and had " been composed in the autumn and winter of 
1610-11, with a view to its production on the Bankside, as soon as the usual performances by 
the king's players commenced there." 

The plot of " The Winter's Tale " is founded on a popular novel by Kobert Greene, first 
printed in 1588, and then called " Pandosto : The Triumph of Time,"* (fee, though in subsequent 
impressions intituled, " The History of Dorastus and Fawnia." In this tale we have the 
leading incidents of the play, and counterparts, though insufferably dull and coarse ones, of the 
principal personages. But Shakespeare has modified the crude materials of his original with 
such judgment, and vivified and ennobled the characters he has retained with such incomparable 
art, that, as usual, he may be said to have imposed rather than to have incurred an obligation 
by adopting them. 



* " Pandosto The Triumph of Time. Wherein is Dis- 
covered by a pleasant Historic, that although by the meanes 
of sinister fortune, Truth may be concealed yet by Time in 
spight of fortune it is most manifestly revealed. Pleasant for 
age to avoyde drowsie thoughts, profitable for youth to eschue 
other wanton pastimes, and bringing to both a desired content. 



Temporis filia Veritas. By Robert Greene, Maister of Artes in 
Cambridge. Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci. Im- 
printed at London by Thomas Orwin for Thomas Cadman, 
dwelling at the Signe of the Bible, neere unto the North doore 
of Paules, 1588." 



fmans ffprmttteb. 



Sicilian Lords. 



Leontes, King of Sicilia. 

Mamillitjs, Son to Leontes. 

Camillo, 

Antigonus, 

Cleomenes, 

Dion, 

Another Sicilian Lord. 

Rogero, a Sicilian Gentleman. 

An Attendant on the young Prince Mamillius. 

Officers of a Court of Judicature. 

Polixenes, King of Bohemia. 

Florizel, Son to Polixenes. 

Archidamus, a Bohemian Lord. 

Paulina's Steward. 



A Mariner. 

Gaoler. 

An old Shepherd, reputed Father of Perdita. 

Clown, Son to the old Shepherd. 

Autolycus, a Rogue. 

Time, as Chorus. 

Hermione, Queen to Leontes. 

Perdita, Daughter to Leontes and Hermione. 

Paulina, Wife to Antigonus. 

Emilia, 

Two Ladies, 

Mopba, 

Dorcas, 



> Attending on the Queen. 

> Shepherdesses. 



lords. Ladies, and Attendants; Satyrs for a Dance; Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Guards, &<. 



SCENE, — Sometimes in Sicilia ; sometimes in Bohemia. 



196 




ACT I. 



SCENE I. — Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes' Palace. 



Enter Camillo and Arched amus. 

Arch. If you shall chance, Camilla, to visit 
Bohemia, on the like occasion whereon my services 
are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, 
great difference betwixt our Bohemia and your 
Sicilia. 

Cam. I think, this coming summer, the king 
of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation 
which he justly owes him. 

Arch. Wherein our entertainment shall shame 
us, we will be justified in our loves ; for, indeed, — 

Cam. Beseech you, — 

Auch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my 
knowledge, we cannot with such magnificence — 
m so rare — I know not what to say. — We will 
give you sleepy drinks, that your senses, unintel- 



ligent of our insufficience, may, though they can- 
not praise us, as little accuse us. 

Cam. You pay a great deal too dear for what 's 
given freely. 

Arch. Believe me, I speak as my understanding 
instructs me, and as mine honesty puts it to 
utterance. 

Cam. Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to 
Bohemia. They were trained together in their 
childhoods ; and there rooted betwixt them then 
such an affection which cannot choose but branch 
now. Since their more mature dignities and royal 
necessities made separation of their society, their 
encounters, though not personal, have been royally 
attorneyed, with interchange of gifts, letters, 
loving embassies ; that they have seemed to be 
together, though absent ; shook hands, as over a 

197 



ACT I. J 



THE WINTER'S TALK. 



[SCENE II. 



vast ; a and embraced, as it were, from the ends of 
opposed winds. The heavens continue their loves ! 

Arch. I think there is not in the world either 
malice or matter to alter it. You have an un- 
speakable comfort of your young prince Mamillius ; 
it is a gentleman of the greatest promise that ever 
came into my note. 

Cam. I very well agree with you in the hopes 
of him : it is a gallant child ; one that, indeed, 
physics the subject, b makes old hearts fresh ; they 
that went on crutches ere he was born, desire yet 
their life to see him a man. 

Arch. Would they else be content to die ? 

Cam. Yes ; if there were no other excuse why 
they should desire to live. 

Arch. If the king had no son they would 
desire to live on crutches till he had one. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE II. — The same. A Boom of State in the 
Palace. 

Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Hermione, Mamil- 
lius, Camlllo, and Attendants. 

Pol. Nine changes of the wat'ry star have been 
The shepherd's note, since we have left our throne 
Without a burden : time as long again 
Would be filPd up, my brother, with our thanks ; 
And yet we should, for perpetuity, 
Go hence in debt : and therefore, like a cipher, 
Yet standing in rich place, I multiply, 
With one we-thank-you, many thousands more 
That go before it. 

Leon. Stay your thanks awhile, 

And pay them when you part. 

Pol. Sir, that 's to-morrow. 

I am question' d by my fears, of what may chance 
Or breed upon our absence ; that may blow 
No sneaping winds at home, to make us say, 



a — shook hands, as over a vast ;] So the first folio : that of 1632 
reads, — "over a vast sea." The earlier lection is no doubt the 
true one; in "The Tempest," Act I. Sc. 2, we have, " vast of 
eight ; " and in " Pericles," Act III. Sc. 1,— 

"The God of this great vast, rebuke these surges." 

b — one that, indeed, physics the subject, — ] " Subject," in this 
place, may import the people generally, as it is usually interpreted ; 
yet from the words which immediately follow, — " makes old 
hearts fresb," it has perhaps a more particular meaning: — The 
eight and hopes of the princely boy were cordial to the afflicted, 
and invigorating to the old. 

c that may blow 

No sneaping winds at home, to make us say, 
This is put forth too truly !] 

Hanmer reads, — 

" This is put forth too early." 
And Capell, — 

" This is put forth too tardily." 

•She sense appears to be,— Oh that no misfortune may occur at home 

198 



This is put forth too truly! Besides, I have 

stay'd 
To tire your royalty. 

Leon. We are tougher, brother, 
Than you can put us to't. 

Pol. No longer stay. 

Leon. One seven-night longer. 

Pol. Very sooth, to-morrow. 

Leon. We '11 part the time between 's then ; and 
in that 
I'H*no gainsaying. 

Pol. Press me not, beseech you, so ; 
There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the 

world, 
So soon as yours could win me : so it should now, 
Were there necessity in your request, although 
'T were needful I denied it. My affairs 
Do even drag me homeward : which to hinder, 
Were, in your love, a whip to me ; my stay, 
To you a charge and trouble : to save both, 
Farewell, our brother. 

Leon. Tongue-tied, our queen ? speak you. 

Her. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace 
until [sir, 

You had drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, 
Charge him too coldly. Tell him, you are sure 
All in Bohemia's well; this satisfaction 
The by-gone day proclaim' d ; say this to him, 
He's beat from his best ward. 

Leon. Well said, Hermione. 

Her. To tell he longs to see his son, were 
strong : 
But let him say so then, and let him go ; 
But let him swear so, and he shall not stay, 
We'll thwack him hence with distaffs. — 
Yet of your royal presence \To Polixenes.] I'll 

adventure 
The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia 
You take my lord, I'll give him my commission, 
To let d him there a month, behind the gest e 
Prefix'd for's parting: yet. good deecL, Leontes, 
I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind . 
What lady-she f her lord. — You'll stay ? 



to justify my apprehensions, and make me say, "I predicted too 
truly:" but Mr. Dyce and Mr. Collier suspect, with reason, that 
the passage is corrupt. 

d To let—] To stay. 

e — behind the gest— ] A " gest " was the name of the scroll con- 
taining the route and resting-places of royalty during a " progress '," 
and Hermione's meaning may be,— when he visits Bohemia he 
shall have my licence to prolong his sojourn a month beyond the 
time prescribed for his departure. Bnt gest, or jest, also signified 
a show or revelry, and it is not impossible that the sense intended 
was, — he shall have my permission to remain a month after the 
farewell entertainment. 

f What lady-she her lord.—] Mr. Collier's annotator suggests, 
prosaically enough, "What lady should her lord." The difficulty 
in the expression arises, we apprehend, solely from the omission 
of the hyphen in "lady-she; " that restored, the sense is unmis- 
takeable,— I love thee not a tick of the clock behind whatever 
high-born woman does her husband. So in Massinger's play of 
" The Bondman," Act I. Sc. 3,— 

u I '11 kiss him for the honour of my coin try, 
With any she in Corinth." 



.ACT I.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[scene il 



No, madam. 



Pol. 

Her. Nay, but you will ? 

Pol. I may not, verily. 

Her. Verily ! 
You put me off with limber vows ; but I, 
Though you would seek to unsphere the stars 

with oaths, 
Should yet say, Sir, no going. Verily, 
You shall not go ; a lady's verily 's 
As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet ? 
Force me to keep you as a prisoner, 
Not like a gue3t ; so you shall pay your fees 
When you depart, and save your thanks. How 

say you ? 
My prisoner or my guest ? by your dread verily, 
One of them you shall be. 

Pol. Your guest then, madam : 

To be your prisoner should import offending ; 
Which is for me less easy to commit 
Than you to punish. 

Her. Not your gaoler, then, 

But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you 
Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys : 
You were pretty lordings then ? 

Pol. We were, fair queen, 

Two lads that thought there was no more behind, 
But such a day to-morrow as to-day, 
And to be boy eternal. 

Her. Was not my lord the verier wag o' the 
two ? 

Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk 
i* the sun, 
And bleat the one at th' other : what we chang'd 
Was innocence for innocence ; we knew not 
The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd 
That any did. Had we pursu'd that life, 
And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd 
With stronger blood, we should have answer'd 

heaven 
Boldly, Not guilty ; the imposition clear'd, 
Hereditary ours. a 

Her. By this we gather, 

You have tripp'd since. 

Pol. O, my most sacred lady, 

Temptations have since then been born to us ! for 
In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl ; 
Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes 
Of my young play-fellow. 

Her. Grace to boot ! 

Of this make no conclusion, lest you say 
Your queen and I are devils : yet, go on ; 
The offences we have made you do, we'll answer, 



* the imposition clear'd, 

Hereditary ours.] 
That is, were the penalty remitted which we inherit from the 
transgression of our first parents. 

b With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal ; — ] Mr. Collier's 
annotator substitutes, — 

" With spur we clear an acre. But to the good." 



If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us 
You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not 
With any but with us. 

Leon. Is he won yet ? 

Her. He'll stay, my lord. 

Leon. At my request he would not. 

Hermione, my dear'st, thou never spok'st 
To better purpose. 

Her. Never ? 

Leon. Never, but once. 

Her. What ! have I twice said well ? when 
was't before ? 
I pr/thee, tell me. Cram us with praise, and 

make us 
As fat as tame things : one good deed dying 

tongueless, 
Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. 
Our praises are our wages : you may ride us 
With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs, ere 
With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal ; — b 
My last good deed was to entreat his stay ; 
What was my first ? it has an elder sister, 
Or I mistake you : O, would her name were Grace ! 
But once before I spoke to the purpose : when ? 
Nay, let me have't ; I long. 

Leon. Why, that was when 

Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to 

death, 
Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, 
And clap thyself my love ; then didst thou utter, 
/ am yours for ever. 

Her. 'Tis Grace, indeed ! — 

Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose 

twice ; 
The one for ever earn'd a royal husband ; 
The other for some while a friend. 

[Giving her hand to Polixenes. 

Leon. [Aside.'] Too hot, too hot ! 

To mingle friendship far, is mingling bloods. 
I have tremor cordis on me, — my heart dances, — 
But not for joy, — not joy. — This entertainment 
May a free face put on ; derive a liberty 
From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom, c 
And well become the agent : 't may, I grant : 
But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers, 
As now they are ; and making practis'd smiles, 
As in a looking-glass ; — and then to sigh, as 't 

were 
The mort o' the deer ; d 0, that is entertainment 
My bosom likes not, nor my brows ! — Mamillius, 
Art thou my boy ? 

Mam. Ay, my good lord. 



c — bounty, fertile bosom, — ] Hanmer and Mr. Collier's anno- 
tator read, — 

" — bounty's fertile bosom," &c. 

d The mort o' the deer;'] The mort 0/ mots of t>e deer was a 
particular strain blown by the huntsmen when the deer was 
killed. There is perhaps, also, a latent play on the word " deer,** 
akin to that in the ensuing speech on " neat." 

199 




Wmrn 



Leon. F fecks ? a 

Why, that's my bawcock. What, hast smutch'd 

thy nose ? — 
They say, it is a copy out of mine. Come, 

captain, 
We must be neat ;— not neat, but cleanly, captain : 
And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf, 
Are all call'd neat. — Still virginalling 

[Observing Poi/exenes and Hebmione. 
Upon his palm?(l) — How now, you wanton 

calf? 
Art thou my calf ? 

Mam. Yes, if you will, my lord. 

Leon. Thou want'st a rough pash, b and the 

shoots that I have, 



* I' fecks?] A popular corruption of "in faith," it is supposed. 

t> — a rough pash, — ] That is, a tufted head or brow. 

c As o'er-dyed blacks, — ] Absurdly changed by Mr. Collier's 
annotator to, "our dead blacks." "Blacks" was the common 
term for mourning habiliments formerly ; and by " o'er-dyed 
blacks " were meant such garments as had become rotten and 
faded by frequent immersion in the dye. If any change in the 

200 



To be full like me : — yet, they say we are 
Almost as like as eggs ; women say so, 
That will say anything : but were they false 
As o'er-dyed blacks, as wind, as waters ; — false 
As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes 
No bourn 'twixt his and mine ; yet were it true 
To say this boy were like me. — Come, sir page, 
Look on me with your welkin eye : d sweet, 

villain ! 
Most dear'st ! my collop ? — Can thy dam ? — 

may't be 
Affection thy intention stabs the centre ? 
Thou dost make possible things not so held ? 
Communicat'st with dreams? — How ! can this 

be?— 



text be admissible, we should read, " oft dyed blacks." Thus, 
in Webster's " Dutchess of Malfi," Act V. Sc. 2,— 

" I do not think but sorrow makes her look 
Like to an oft dy'd garment :" 

d — welkin eye :] That is, sky-coloured eye. 




With what's unreal thou coactive art, 

And fellow'st nothing ? Then 't is very credent, 

Thou mayst co-join with something ; * and thou 

dost, — 
And that beyond commission ; b and I find it, — 
And that to the infection of my brains, 
And hardening of my brows. 

Pol. What means Sicilia ? 

Her. He something seems unsettled. 

Pol. How, my lord ! 

What cheer ? how is 't with you, best brother ? c 

* Can thy dam ?— may 't be 

Affection thy intention stabs the centre ? 
Thou dost make possible things not so held? 
Communicat'st with dreams?— How ! can this be? — 
With what's unreal thou coactive art, 
And fellow'st nothing ? Then 't is very credent, 
Thou mayst co-join with something; &c] 
"Affection" here means imagination; "intention" signifies in- 
tention or intensity ; and the allusion, though the commentators 
have all missed it, is plainly to that mysterious principle of nature 
by which a parent's features are transmitted to the offspring. Pur- 
suing the train of thought induced by the acknowledged likeness 
between the boy and himself, Leontes asks, " Can it be possible 
a mother's vehement imagination should penetrate even to the 
womb, and there imprint upon theembryo what stamp she chooses ? 
Such apprehensive fantasy, then," he goes on to say, " we may 
believe will readily co-join with something tangible, and it does," 
&c. &c. 

b And that beyond commission ;] " Commission" here, as in a 
former passage of the scene, "I'll give him my commission," 
means warrant, permission, authority. 



Her. You look as if you held a brow of much 
distraction : 
Are you mov'd, my lord ? ( 2 ) 

Leon. No, in good earnest. — 

[Aside.~\ How sometimes nature will betray its 

folly, 
Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime 
To harder bosoms ! — Looking on the lines 
Of my boy's face, methought d I did recoil 
Twenty-three years ; and saw myself unbreech'd, 
In my green velvet coat ; my dagger muzzled, 

c Pol. How, my lord ! 

What cheer? how is 't with you, best brother?] 
" In the folio, the words ' What cheer? bow is't with you, best 
brother?' have the prefix 'Leo. ;' Hanmer assigned them to Polix- 
enes. Mr. Collier and Mr. Knight restore them — very injudici- 
ously, I think — to Leontes. (I suspect that the true reading here 
is,— 

' Pol. Ho, my lord ! 

What cheer ? how is 't with you ? ' &c. — 

for Leontes is standing apart from Polixenes and Hermione ; and 

' how,' as I have already noticed, was frequently the old spelling 

of 'hO.'")-DYCE. 

d — methought I did recoil — ] Mr. Collier, upon the strength 
of a MS. annotation in Lord Ellesmere's copy of the first folio, 
prints "my thoughts I did recoil;" but "methoughts" of the 
original was often used for "methought." So, in the folio text 
of " Richard III." Act I. Sc. 4,— 

" Me thoughts that I had broken from the tower," &c. 
And in the same scene, — 

" Me thoughts I saw a thousand fearfull wrackes." &c 

201 



ACT I.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



'scene it 



Lest it should bite its master, and so prove, 
As ornaments oft do, too dangerous : 
How like, methought, I then was to this kernel, 
This squash,* this gentleman: — Mine honest 

friend, 
Will you take eggs for money ? b 
Mam. No, my lord, I'll fight. 
Leon. You will ? why, happy man be 's 
dole ! — My brother, 
Are you so fond of your young prince, as we 
Do seem to be of ours ? 

Pol. If at home, sir, 

He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter : 
Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy ; 
My parasite, mine soldier, statesman, all : 
He makes a July's day short as December ; 
And with his varying childness cures in me 
Thoughts that would thick my blood. 

Leon. So stands this squire 

Offic'd with me. We two will walk, my lord, 
And leave you to your graver steps. — Hermione, 
How thou lov'st us, show in our brother's welcome ; 
Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap : 
Next to thyself and my young rover, he's 
Apparent to my heart. 

Her. If you would seek us, 

We are yours i' the garden : shall 's attend you 
there? 
Leon. To your own bents dispose you : you'll 
be foimd, 
Be you beneath the sky. — [Aside.'] I am angling 

now, 
Though you perceive me not how I give line. 
Go to, go to ! 

[Observing Polixenes and Hermione. 
How she holds up the neb, the bill to him ! 
And arms her with the boldness of a wife 
To her allowing husband ! d Gone already ! — 

[Exeunt Polixenes, Hermione, and 
Attendants. 
Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd 6 

one. 
Go play, boy, play ; — thy mother plays, and I 
Play too ; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue 
Will hiss me to my grave ; contempt and clamour 
Will be my knell. — Go play, boy, play. — There 
have been, 



» This squash, — ] A "squash "is an immature pea-pod. The 
word occurs again in " Twelfth Night," Act I. Sc. 5,— 

u As a squash before it is a peascod, ' 

and in "A Midsummer Night's Dream," Act III. Sc. 1. 

b Will you take eggs for money?] This was a proverbial phrase, 
implying, Will you 6uffer yourself to be cajoled ? 

c Apparent to my heart.] Nearest to my affections. 

d To her allowing husband I] That is, probably, her allowed, her 
lawful husband. 

e — a fork'd on*.] A horned one. So, in " Othello," Act III. 
Sc.3,— 

" Even then this forked plague is fated to u» 
When we do quicken." 

202 



Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now ; 
And many a man there is, even at this present, 
(Now, while I speak this) holds his wife by th' 

arm, 
That little thinks she has been sluic'd in's absence, 
And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by 
Sir Smile, his neighbour : nay, there's comfort in't 
Whiles other men have gates, and those gates 

open'd, 
As mine, against their will. Should all despair 
That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind 
Would hang themselves. Physic for't there's none ; 
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike 
Where 't is predominant ; and 't is powerful, 

think it, 
From east, west, north, and south : be it concluded, 
No barricado for a belly; know't, 
It will let in and out the enemy, 
With bag and baggage : many a thousand on's 
Have the disease, and feel't not. — How now, boy ! 

Mam. I am like you, they f say. 

Leon. Why, that's some comfort. — 

What, Camillo there ? 

Cam. Ay, my good lord. 

Leon. Go play, Mamillius ; thou'rt an honest 
man. — [Exit Mamillius. 

Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. 

Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor 
hold: 
When you cast out, it still came home. 

Leon. Didst note it ? 

Cam. He would not stay at your petitions ; made 
His business more material. 

Leon. Didst perceive it ? — 

[Aside.] They're herewith me g already; whis- 

p'ring, rounding, 
Sicilia is a — so-forth : 'Tis far gone, 
When I shall gust it last. — How came't, Camillo, 
That he did stay ? 

Cam. At the good queen's entreaty. 

Leon. At the queen's be't: good should be 
pertinent ; 
But so it is, it is not. h Was this taken 
By any understanding pate but thine ? 
For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in 
More than the common blocks : — not noted, is't, 
But of the finer natures ? by some severals 



t I am like you, they say.] So the second folio; the first reads, 
" I am like you say." 

g They 're here with me already; whisp'ring, &c] That is, say 
the modern editors, "Not Polixenes and Hermione, but casual 
observers"! or "They are aware of my condition"! Strange 
forgetfulness of a common form of speech. By "They're here 
with me already," the King means, — the people are already mocking 
me with this opprobrious gesture (the cuckold's emblem with 
their fingers), and whispering, &c. So in " Coriolanus," Act III. 
Sc. 2,— 

" Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand; 
And thus far having stretch'd it, (here be with them). 
See also note ( a ), p. 161 of the present/Volume. 

h But so it is, it is not.] But as you apply the word, it is not 
pertinent. 



ACT I.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[SCENE II. 



Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes a 
Perchance are to this business purblind ? say. 

Cam. Business, my lord? I think most under- 
stand 
Bohemia stays here longer. 

Leon. Ha ? 

Cam. Stays here longer. 

Leon. Ay, but why ? 

Cam. To satisfy your highness, and the en- 
treaties 
Of our most gracious mistress. 

Leon. Satisfy 

The entreaties of your mistress ? satisfy ! — 

Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, 
With all the near'st things to my heart, as well 
My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou 
Hast cleans'd my bosom, — I from thee departed 
Thy penitent reform'd : but we have been 
Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd 
In that which seems so. 

Cam. Be it forbid, my lord ! 

Leon. To bide upon 't b — thou art not honest : or, 
If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward, 
Which hoxes c honesty behind, restraining 
From course requir'd ; or else thou must be counted 
A servant grafted in my serious trust, 
And therein negligent ; or else a fool, [drawn, 
That seest a game play'd home* the rich stake 
And tak'st it all for jest. 

Cam. My gracious lord, 

I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful ; 
In every one of these no man is free, 
But that his negligence, his folly, fear, 
Among the infinite doings of the world, 
Sometimes puts forth. In your affairs, my lord, 
If ever I were wilful-negligent, 
It was my folly ; if industriously 
I play'd the fool, it was my negligence, 
Not weighing well the end ; if ever fearful 
To do a thing, where I the issue doubted, 
Whereof the execution did cry out 
Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear 
Which oft infects the wisest : these, my lord, 
Are such allow'd infirmities, that honesty 
Is never free of. But, beseech your grace, 
Be plainer with me ; let me know my trespass 
By its d own visage : if I then deny it, 
'T is none of mine. 

Leon. Have not you seen, Camillo, 

(But that's past doubt, — you have, or your eye- 
glass 



a — lower messes — ] Meaning inferior persons ; such as sat at 
meals below the salt. 

"~b To bide upon 't — ] This expression appears to mean, as Mr. 
Dyce has shown by examples, — My abiding opinion is. 

c — hoxes — ] To hox or hough is to hamstring. 

d — its — ] The comparatively frequent use of the impersonal 
"its," (though, for the most part, with the apostrophe, it's,)in 
this piece, while it is found but rarely in any of the other plays ; 
in many, not at all; maybe taken as an indication that " The 



Is thicker than a cuckold's horn) or heard, 
(For, to a vision so apparent, rumour 
Cannot be mute) or thought, (for cogitation 
Besides not in that man that does not think it e ) 
My wife is slippery ? If thou wilt confess, 
(Or else be impudently negative, 
To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought) then say 
My wife's a hobbyhorse ; * deserves a name 
As rank as any flax-wench that puts to 
Before her troth-plight : say't, and justify *t. 

Cam. I would not be a stander-by to hear 
My sovereign mistress clouded so. without 
My present vengeance taken : 'shrew my heart, 
You never spoke what did become you less 
Than this ; which to reiterate were sin 
As deep as that, though true. 

Leon. Is whispering nothing ? 

Is leaning cheek to cheek ? is meeting noses ? 
Kissing with inside lip ? stopping the career 
Of laughter with a sigh ? ( a note infallible 
Of breaking honesty) horsing foot on foot ? 
Skulking in corners ? wishing clocks more swift ? 
Hours, minutes ? noon, midnight ? and all eyes 
Blind with the pin and web, f but theirs, theirs only, 
That would unseen be wicked ? is this nothing ? 
Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing ; 
The covering sky is nothing ; Bohemia nothing ; 
My wife is nothing ; nor nothing have these 

nothings, 
If this be nothing. 

Cam. Good my lord, be cur'd 

Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes ; 
For 't is most dangerous. 

Leon. Say it be ; 'tis true. 

Cam. No, no, my lord. 

Leon. It is ; you lie, you lie ! 

I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee ; 
Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave ; 
Or else a hovering temporizer, that 
Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil, 
Inclining to them both. Were my wife's liver 
Infected as her life, she would not live 
The running of one glass. 

Cam. Who does infect her ? 

Leon. Why, he that wears her like her medal, 
hanging 
About his neck, Bohemia : who — if I 
Had servants true about me, that bare eyes 
To see alike mine honour as their profits, 
Their own particular thrifts, they would do that 
Which should undo more doing : ay, and thou, 



(*) Old text, Holy-Hone. 



See 



Winter's Tale" was one of the poet's latest productions, 
note (3), p. 330, Vol. I. 

e — that does not think it—] The lection of the second folio, 
at least in some copies of that edition ; the first has, " — that do's 
not thinke," &c. 

f — the pin and web,—] Has before been explained to mean the 
disorder of the sight called a cataract. 

203 



ACT I.] 



TI1E WINTER'S TALE. 



[SCENE II. 



His cupbearer, — whom I from meaner form 
Have bench'd, and rear'd to worship ; who mayst 

see 
Plainly, as heaven sees earth, and earth sees heaven, 
How I am galled, — mightst bespice a .cup, 
To give mine enemy a lasting wink ; 
Which draught to me were cordial. 

Cam. Sir, my lord, 8 

I could do tins ; and that with no rash potion, 
But with a ling'ring dram, that should not work 
Maliciously like poison : but I cannot 
Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, 
So sovereignly being honourable. 
I have lov'd thee, b — 

Leon. Make that thy question, and go rot ! 
Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled, 
To appoint myself in this vexation ? sully 
The purity and whiteness of my sheets, — 
Which to preserve is sleep ; which being spotted, 
Ts goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps ? 
Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son, — 
Who I do think is mine, and love as mine, — 
Without ripe moving to 't ? — Would I do this ? 
Could man so blench ? 

Cam. I must believe you, sir ; 

I do ; and will fetch off Bohemia for't; 
Provided that, when he's remov'd, your highness 
Will take again your queen as ytmrs at first, 
Even for your son's sake ; and thereby for sealing 
The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms 
Known and allied to yours. 

Leon. Thou dost advise me, 

Even so as I mine own course have set down : 
I'll give no blemish to her honour, none. 

Cam. My lord, 
Go then ; and with a countenance as clear 
As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia, 
And with your queen. I am his cupbearer ; 
If from me he have wholesome beverage, 
Account me not your servant. 

Leon. This is all ; — 

Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart ; 
Do't not, thou splitt'st thine own. 

Cam. I'll do't, my lord. 

Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast ad- 
vis'd me.(3) [Exit. 

Cam. miserable lady ! — But, for me, 
What case stand I in ? I must be the poisoner 
Of good Polixenes ; and my ground to do't 
Is the obedience to a master ; one, 
Who, in rebellion with himself, will have 



& Sir, my lord, — ] With his usual ignorance of Shakespearian 
phraseology, Mr. Collier's ever-meddling annotator, both here and 
in Act III. Sc. 1, where Perdita says — " Sir, my gracious lord," &c, 
for "Sir," reads " Sure." And Mr. Collier, mindless of Paulina's 
"Sir, my liege, your eye hath too much youth," &c. in Act. V. 
Sc. 1, of this very play; of Prospero's, — "Sir, my liege, do not 
infest your mind," &c. ; of Hamlet's,— "Sir, my good friend," &c, 
chooses to adopt the substitution, and tells us, "Sure" is "evi- 
dently the true text" ! 

204 



All that are his so too. — To do this deed, 
Promotion follows : if I could find example 
Of thousands that had struck anointed kings 
And flourish'd after, I'd not do't; but since 
Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one, 
Let villainy itself forswear 't. I must 
Forsake the court : to do't, or no, is certain 
To me a break-neck. Happy star reign now ! 
Here comes Bohemia. 

Re-enter Polixenes. 

Pol. This is strange ! methinks 

My favour here begins to warp. Not speak ? — 
Good day, Camillo. 

Cam. Hail, most royal sir ! 

Pol. What is the news i' the court ? 

Cam. None rare, my lord. 

Pol. The king hath on him such a countenance 
As he had lost some province, and a region 
Lov'd as he loves himself: even now I met him 
With customary compliment ; when he, 
Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling 
A lip of much contempt, speeds from me ; and 
So leaves me to consider what is breeding 
That changes thus his manners. 

Cam. I dare not know,, ray lord. 

Pol. How ! dare not i do not ? Do you know, 
and dare not 
Be intelligent to me? 'Tis thereabouts ; 
For to yourself, what you do know, you must 
And cannot say you dare not. c Good Camillo, 
Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror, 
Which shows me mine chang'd too ; for I must be 
A party in this alteration, finding 
Myself thus alter'd with it. 

Cam. There is a sickness 

Which puts some of us in distemper, but 
I cannot name the disease, and it is caught 
Of you that yet are well. 

Pol. How ! caught of me ? 

Make me not sighted like the basilisk : 
I have look'd on thousands who have sped the 

better 
By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo — 
As you are certainly a gentleman ; . thereto 
Clerk-like experienc'd, which no less adorns 
Our gentry than our parents' noble names, 
In whose success 4 we are gentle, — I beseech you, 
If you know aught which does behove my know- 
ledge 

b I have lov'd thee, — ] These words, though forming a part of 
Camillo's speech in the old copies, are sometimes assigned to 
Leontes in modern editions. 

c For to yourself, what you do know, you must 

And cannot say you dare not.] 
That is, — For what you know, you must not and cannot say you 
dare not tell yourself. 

d In whose success we are gentle, — ] By suocession from whom 
we derive gentility. 



V ^ 




Thereof to be inform'd, imprison 't not 
In ignorant concealment. 

Cam. I may not answer. 

Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well ! 
I must be answer'd. — Dost thou hear, Camillo ? 
I conjure thee, by all the parts of man 
Which honour does acknowledge, — whereof the 

least 
Is not this suit of mine, — that thou declare 
What incidency thou dost guess of harm 
Is creeping toward me ; how far off, how near ; 
Which way to be prevented, if to be ; 
If not, how best to bear it. 

Cam. Sir, I will tell you ; 

Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him 
That I think honourable : therefore, mark my 

counsel, 
Which must be even as swiftly followM as 
I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me 
Cry lost, and so good night ! 

Pol. On, good Camillo. 

Cam. I am appointed him to murder you ! a 

Pol. By whom, Camillo ? 

Cam. By the king. 

Pol. For what ? 

Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence, he 
swears, 



a 1 am appointed him to murder you !] I am the agent fixed 
upon to murder you. 

b To vice you to't, — ] To screw you to it. So in "Twelfth 
Night," Act V. Sc. 1,— 

" I partly know the instrument 

That screws me from my true place in vour favour." 



As he had seen't, or been an instrument 

To vice b you to't, — that you have touch'd his queen 

Forbiddenly. 

Pol. O, then my best blood turn 

To an infected jelly, and my name 
Be yok'd with his that did betray the Best ! c 
Turn then my freshest reputation to 
A savour that may strike the dullest nostril 
Where I arrive, and my approach be shunn'd, 
Kay, hated too, worse than the great' st infection 
That e'er was heard or read ! 

Cam. Swear his thought over d 

By each particular star in heaven, and 
By all their influences, you may as well 
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon, 
As, or by oath remove, or counsel shake 
The fabric of his folly, whose foundation 
Is pil'd upon his faith, and will continue 
The standing of his body. 

Pol. How should this grow ? 

Cam. I know not : but I am sure 't is safer to 
Avoid what's grown than question how 'tis born. 
If therefore you dare trust my honesty, — 
That lies enclosed in this trunk, which you 
Shall bear along impawn'd, — away to-night ! 
Your followers I will whisper to the business ; 
And will, by twos and threes, at several posterns, 

c Be yok'd with his that did betray the Be** 1] That is, with the 
name of Judas. 

d Swear his thought over — ] Theobald suggested,—" Swear this 
though, over," which, besides being foreign to the mode of expres- 
sion in Shakespeare's time, is a change quite uncalled for; to swear 
over = over-swear, is merely to oi//-swear. 

205 



ACT I.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[SCENE II. 



Clear them o' the city : for myself, I'll put 
My fortunes to your service, which are here 
By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain ; 
For, by the honour of my parents, I 
Have utter'd truth ; which if you seek to prove, 
I dare not stand by ; nor shall you be safer 
Than one condemned by the king's own mouth, 
Thereon his execution sworn. 

Pol. I do believe thee ; 
I saw his heart in's face. Give me thy hand ; 
Be pilot to me, and thy places a shall 
Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready, and 
My people did expect my hence departure 
Two days ago. — This jealousy 
Is for a precious creature : as she's rare, 



* — places — ] By "places " are perhaps meant dignities, or 
honours. 

b Good expedition be my friend, and comfort 

The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing 
Of his ill-ta'en suspicion !] 
Warturton gives, — 

" and comfort 



Must it be great ; and, as his person 's mighty, 
Must it be violent : and as he does conceive 
He is dishonour'd by a man which ever 
Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must 
In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me : 
Good expedition be my friend, and comfort 
The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing 
Of his ill-ta'en suspicion ! b Come, Camillo ; 
I will respect thee as a father, if 
Thou bear'st my life off hence : let us avoid. 
Cam. It is in mine authority to command 
The keys of all the posterns. Please your high- 
ness 
To take the urgent hour : come, sir, away ! 

[Exeunt.^) 



The gracious queen's ; " 

Hanmer and Mr. Collier's annotator, — 

" Good expedition be my friend I Heaven comfort," &c. ; 

the latter substituting "dream" for "theme." But we are still 
wide — toto ccelo, tota regions — of the genuine text, now, it may be 
feared, irrecoverable. 








ACT II. 



SCENE I.— Sicilia. The Palace. 



Enter Hermione, Mamtllixts, and Ladies. 

Her. Take the boy to you : he so troubles me 
Tis past enduring. 

1 Lady. Come, my gracious lord, 

! Shall I be your playfellow ? 

Mam. No, I'll none of you. 

1 Lady. Why, my sweet lord ? 
Mam. You'll kiss me hard, and speak to me 

as if 
I were a baby still. — I love you better. 

2 Lady. And why so, my lord ? 

Mam. Not for because 

Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they 

say, 
Become some women best, so that there be not 
j Too much hair there, but in a semicircle, 
Or a half-moon made with a pen. 

2 Lady. Who taught you this ? * 

Mam. I learn'd it out of women's faces. — Pray 
now 
What colour are your eyebrows ? 



* Who taught you this ?] It has been customary, since the time 
of Rowe, to read, — "Who taught you this? " though in the old text 
tho proooun it only indicated by an apostrophe. 



1 Lady. Blue, my lord. 
Mam. Nay, that 's a mock : I have seen a lady's 

nose 
That has been blue, but not her eyebrows. 

2 Lady. Hark ye ; 
The queen your mother rounds apace : we shall 
Present our services to a fine new prince 

One of these days; and then you'd wanton with 

us, 
If we would have you. 

1 Lady. She is spread of late 

Into a goodly bulk : good time encounter her ! 
Her. What wisdom stirs amongst you ? — Come, 
sir, now 
I am for you again : pray you, sit by us, 
And tell's a tale. 

Mam. Merry, or sad, shall 't be ? 

Her. As merry as you will. 
Mam. A sad tale's best for winter : 

I have one of sprites and goblins. 

Her. Let's have that, good sir. 

Come on, sit down : — come on, and do your best 
To fright me with your sprites; you're powerful 
at it. 
Mam. There was a man, — 

207 



ACT II.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[scene r. 



Her. Nay, come, sit down ; then on. 

Mam. Dwelt by a churchyard; — I will tell it 
softly ; 
Yond crickets shall not hear it. 

Her. Come on then, 

And give 't me in mine ear. 



Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, and others. 

Leon. Was he met there ? his train ? Camillo 
with him ? [never 

1 Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met them ; 
Saw I men scour so on their way : I ey'd them 
Even to their ships. 

Leon. How bless'd am I 

In my just censure ! — in my time opinion ! — 
Alack, for lesser knowledge ! — how accurs'd 
In being so bless'd ! — There may be in the cup 
A spider steep'd, a and one may drink, de]5art, b 
And yet partake no venom ; for his knowledge 
Is not infected : but if one present 
The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known 
How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides, 
With violent hefts : c — I have drunk, and seen the 

spider. 
Camillo was his help in this, his pander : — 
There is a plot against my life, my crown ; 
All 's true that is mistrusted : — that false villain, 
Whom I employ'd, was pre-employ'd by him : 
He has discover'd my design, and I 
Remain a pinch'd thing ; d yea, a very trick 
For them to play at will. — How came the posterns 
So easily open ? 

1 Lord. By his great authority ; 

Which often hath no less prevail'd than so, 
On your command. 

Leon. I know't too well. — 

Give me the boy ; — I am glad you did not nurse 

him : 
Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you 
Have too much blood in him. 

Her. What is this ? sport ? 

Leon. Bear the boy hence, he shall not come 
about her ; 
Away with him ! — and let her sport herself 

{Exit Mamillius, with some of the Attendants. 
With that she's big with ; for 'tis Polixenes 
Has made thee swell thus. 

Her. But I'd say he had not, — 



a A spider steep'd, — ] It was a prevalent belief anciently that 
spiders were venomous, and that a person might be poisoned by 
drinking any liquid in which one was infused. From the context 
it would appear, however, that to render the draught fatal, the 
victim ought to see the spider. So, in Middleton's " No Wit, no 
Help like a Woman's," Act II. Sc. 1, — 

" Even when my lip touch'd the contracting cup, 
Even then to see ihe spider?" 

b — and one may drink, depart, &c] Mr. Collier's annotator 

208 



And I'll be sworn, — you would believe my saying, 
Howe'er you lean to the nayward. 

Leon. You, my lords, 

Look on her, mark her well ; be but about 
To say, she is a goodly lady, and 
The justice of your hearts will thereto add, 
y Tis pity she's not honest, honourable : 
Praise her but for this her without-door form, 
(Which, on my faith, deserves high speech) and 

straight 
The shrug, the hum, or ha, — these petty brands 
That calumny doth use : — 0, I am out, 
That mercy does ; for calumny will sear 
Virtue itself :-^these shrugs, these hums and ha's, 
When you have said she's goodly, come between, 
Ere you can say she's honest : but be't known, 
From him that has most cause to grieve it should 

be, 
She 's an adultress ! 

Her. Should a villain say so, 

The most replenish'd villain in the world, 
He were as much more villain : you, my lord, 
Do but mistake. 

Leon. You have mistook, my lady, 

Polixenes for Leontes : O, thou thing, 
Which I '11 not call a creature of thy place, 
Lest barbarism, making me the precedent, 
Should a like language use to all degrees, 
And mannerly distinguishment leave out 
Betwixt the prince and beggar ! — I have said 
She's an adultress ; I have said with whom : 
More, she 's a traitor ; and Camillo is 
A federary e with her ; and one that knows 
What she should shame to know herself 
But with her most vile principal, that she 's 
A bed-swerver, even as bad as those 
That vulgars give bold'st titles ; ay, and privy 
To this their late escape. 

Her. No, by my life, 

Privy to none of this ! How will this grieve you 
When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that 
You thus have publish'd me ! Gentle my lord, 
You scarce can right me throughly then, to say 
You did mistake. 

Leon. No ! if I mistake 

In those foundations which I build upon, 
The centre is not big enough to bear 
A schoolboy's top. — Away with her to prison ! 
He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty 
But that he speaks. 



reads, — "and one may drink apart ;" but what Shakespeare wrote, 
we are persuaded, was, — 

" and one may drink deep o't, 

And yet partake no venom." 

c — hefts: — ] " Hefts" are heavings. 

d — a pinch'd thing;] That is, a restrained, nipped, conjinea 
thing. 

e A federary — ] A supposed corruption of feodary, and signi- 
fying a confederate, or accomplice. See note (d), p. 608, Vol IJ 



ACT II.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[SCENE L 



Her. There 's some ill planet reigns : 

I must be patient till the heavens look 
With an aspect more favourable. — Good my lords, 
I am not prone to weeping, as our sex 
Commonly are, — the want of which vain dew 
Perchance shall dry your pities, — but I have 
That honourable grief lodg'd here, which burns 
Worse than tears drown : beseech you all, my lords, 
With thoughts so qualified as your charities 
Shall best instruct you, measure me ; — and so 
The king's will be perform'd ! 

Leon. Shall I be heard ? [To the Guards. 

Her. Who is 't that goes with me ? — Beseech 
your highness, 
My women may be with me, for, you see, 
My plight requires it. — Do not weep, good fools ; 
There is no cause : when you shall know your 

mistress 
Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears 
As I come out : this action I now go on 
Is for my better grace. — Adieu, my lord : 
I never wish'd to see you sorry ; now [leave. 

I trust I shall.(l) — My women, come ; you have 

Leon. Go, do our bidding ; hence ! 

[Exeunt Queen and Ladies, with Guards. 

1 Lord. Beseech your highness, call the queen 
again. 

Ant. Be certain what you do, sir, lest your 
justice 
Prove violence ; in the which three great ones suffer, 
Yourself, your queen, your son. 

1 Lord. For her, my lord, 

I dare my life lay down, and will do 't, sir, 
Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless 
I' the eyes of heaven and to you ; I mean, 
In this which you accuse her. 

Ant. If it prove 

She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where 
I lodge my wife ; I '11 go in couples with her ; a 
Than when I feel and see her, no farther trust her ; 
For every inch of woman in the world, 
Ay, every dram of woman's flesh, is false, 
If she be. 

Leon. Hold your peaces. 

a If it pi ove 

She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where 
I lodge my wife ; I'll go in couples with her ;] 
A prodigious amount of nonsense has been written on this unfor- 
tunate passage, but not a single editor or critic bas shown the 
faintest perception of what it means. The accepted explanation, 
that by "I'll keep my stables where I lodge my wife," &c. Anti- 
gonus declares that he will have his stables in the same place with 
his wife; or, as some writers express it, he will "make his stable 
or dog-kennel of his wife's chamber " ! sets gravity completely at 
defiance. What he means — and the excessive grossness of the idea 
can hardly be excused — is, unquestionably, that if Hermione be 
proved incontinent he should believe every woman is unchaste ; 
his own wife as licentious as Semiramis, ("Equum adamatum a 
Semiramide," &c. — Pliny, 1. viii. c. 42,) and where he lodged her he 
would " keep," that is, guard, or fasten the entry of his stables. 
This sense of the word "keep" is so common, even in Shakespeare, 
that it is amazing no one should have seen its application here. 
For example: — 

b " Oromio, keep the gate." — Comedy of Errors, Act II. Sc. 2. 

c " Keep the door close, sirrah."— Henry VIII. Act V. Sc. 1. 

209 



1 Lord. Good my lord, — 

Ant. It is for you we speak, not for ourselves , 
You are abus'd, and by some putter-on, b 
That will be damn'd for 't ; would I knew the 

villain, 
I would land-damn c him. Be she honour-flaw'd, — 
I have three daughters ; the eldest is eleven ; 
The second, and the third, nine, and some five ; 
If this prove true, they'll pay for't: by mine 

honour, 
I'll geld 'em all; fourteen they shall not see, 
To bring false generations : they are co-heirs ; 
And I had rather glib myself than they 
Should not produce fair issue. 

Leon. Cease ! no more. 

You smell this business with a sense as cold 
As is a dead man's nose : but I do see't and feel't, 
As you feel doing thus ; and see withal 
The instruments that feel. d 

Ant. If it be so, 

We need no grave to bury honesty ; 
There 's not a grain of it the face to sweeten. 
Of the whole dungy earth. 

Leon. What ! lack I credit ? 

1 Lord. I had rather you did lack than I, my 
lord, 
Upon this ground ; and more it would content me 
To have her honour true than your suspicion, 
Be blam'd for 't how you might. 

Leon. Why, what need we 

Commune with you of this, but rather follow 
Our forceful instigation ? Our prerogative 
Calls not your counsels ; but our natural goodness 
Imparts this : which, if you (or stupefied, 
Or seeming so in skill 6 ) cannot or will not 
Relish a truth, like us, inform yourselves 
We need no more of your advice : the matter, 
The loss, the gain, the ordering on 't, is all 
Properly ours. 

Ant. And I wish, my liege, 

* You had only in your silent judgment tried it, 
Without more overture. 

Leon. How could that be ? 

Either thou art most ignorant by age, 

" I thank you : keep the door." — Hamlet, Act IV. Sc. 5. 
" Gratiano, keep the house," &c. — Othello, Act V. Sc. 2. 
b — and by some putter-on, — ] " Putter-on " appears to have 
been a term of reproach, implying an instigator, ox plotter. It 
occurs again in " Henry VIII." Act I. Sc. 2. See note (b), p. 650, 
Vol. II. 

c — land-damn him.] " Land-damn " may almost with cer- 
tainty be pronounced corrupt. The only tolerable attempt to 
extract sense from it, as it stands, is that of Rann, who con- 
jectured that it meant "condemned to the punishment of being 
built up in the earth " — a torture mentioned in " Titus Androni- 
cus," Act V. Sc. 3,— 

" Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him," &c. 

d and see withal 

The instruments that feel.] 

A stage direction of some kind is required at these words. Han- 
mer gives, "Laying hold of his arm;" Dr. Johnson, "Striking 
his brows." 

e — in skill)—] That is, cunning, design. 




Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight, 

Added to their familiarity, 

(Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture, 

That lack'd, sight only, nought for approbation ; * 

But only seeing, all other circumstances 

Made up to the deed) doth push on this proceeding : 

Yet, for a greater confirmation, 

(For, in an act of this importance, 'twere 

Most piteous to be wild) I have dispatch'd in post 

To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, 

Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know 

Of stuff'd sufficiency. Now, from the oracle 

They will bring all ; whose spiritual counsel had, 

Shall stop, or spur me. Have I done well ? 

1 Lobd. Well done, my lord. 

Leon. Though I am satisfied, and need no more 
Than what I know, yet shall the oracle 
Give rest to the minds of others ; such as he 
Whose ignorant credulity will not 
Come up to the truth. So have we thought it 

good, 
From our free person she should be confin'd, 
Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence 
Be left her to perform. Come, follow us ; 
We are to speak in public ; for this business 
Will raise us all. 

Ant. \_Aside.~] To laughter, as I take it, 
If the good truth were known. [Exeunt 

•.*&?£•• 

* That lack'd, sight only, nought for approbation ;] The meaning 
is, — That •wanted, seeing excepted, nothing for proof. 

210 



SCENE II. — The same. TJie outer Room of a 
Prison. 

Enter Patjltna and Attendants. 

Paul. The keeper of the prison, — call to him ; 
Let him have knowledge who I am. — 

[Exit an Attendant. 
Good lady! 
No court in Europe is too good for thee ; 
What dost thou, then, in prison ? 

Re-enter Attendant, with the Gaoler. 

Now, good sir, 
You know me, do you not ? 

Gaol. For a worthy lady, 

And one who much I honour. 

Paul. 
Conduct me to the queen. 

Gaol. I may not, madam : to the contrary 
I have express commandment. 

Paul. Here's ado, 

To lock up honesty and honour from [y ou > 

The access of gentle visitors! — Is't lawful, pray 
To see her women ? any of them ? Emilia ? 

Gaol. So please you, madam, 
To put apart these your attendants, I 
Shall bring Emilia forth. 

Paul. I pray now, call her. — 

Withdraw yourselves. [Exeunt Attendants. 



Pray you, then, 



ACT II.] 



WINTER'S TALE. 



[scene iil 



Gaol. And, madam, 

I must be present at your conference. 

Paul. Well, be it so, pr'ythee. [Exit Gaoler. 
Here 's such ado to make no stain a stain, 
As passes colouring. 

Re-enter Gaoler, with Emilia. 

Dear gentlewoman, 
How fares our gracious lady ? 
• Emtl. As well as one so great and so forlorn 
May hold together : on her frights and griefs, 
(Which never tender lady hath borne greater) 
She is, something before her time, deliver'd. 

Paul. A boy ? 

Emtl. A daughter ; and a goodly babe, 

Lusty, and like to live : the queen receives 
Much comfort in 't: says, My poor prisoner, 
I am innocent as you. 

Paul. I dare be sworn : — 

These dangerous unsafe lunes a i' the king ! be- 

shrew them ! 
He must be told on 't, and he shall : the office 
Becomes a woman best ; I '11 take 't upon me : 
If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blister, 
And never to my red-look' d anger be 
The trumpet any more. — Pray you, Emilia, 
Commend my best obedience to the queen ; 
If she dares trust me with her little babe, 
I '11 show 't the king, and undertake to be 
Her advocate to the loudest. We do not know 
How he may soften at the sight o' the child ; 
The silence often of pure innocence 
Persuades, when speaking fails. 

Emtl. Most worthy madam, 

Your honour and your goodness is so evident, 
That your free undertaking cannot miss 
A thriving issue : there is no lady living [ship 
So meet for this great errand. Please your lady- 
To visit the next room, I '11 presently 
Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer ; 
Who but to-day hammer'd of this design, 
But durst not tempt a minister of honour, 
Lest she should be denied. 

Paul. Tell her, Emilia, 

I '11 use that tongue I have : if wit flow from 't, 
As boldness from my bosom, let 't not be doubted 
I shall do good. 

Emtl. Now be you bless'd for it ! 

I '11 to the queen : please you, come something 
nearer. [the babe, 

Gaol. Madam, if 't please the queen to send 
I know not what I shall incur to pass it, 
Having no warrant. 

* These dangerous unsafe lunes — ] To remedy the apparent 
tautology in this line, Mr. Collier's annotator would have us read, 
—still more tautologically, — 

" These dangerous unsane lunes," &c. 
Rut the old text needs no alteration ; " dangerous," like its syno- 
211 



Paul. You need not fear it, sir : 
This child was prisoner to the womb, and is, 
By law and process of great Nature, thence 
Freed and enfranchis'd ; not a party to 
The anger of the king, nor guilty of, 
If any be, the trespass of the queen. 

Gaol. I do believe it. 

Paul. Do not you fear ; upon mine honour, I 
Will stand betwixt you and danger. [Exeunt. 



SCENE III. — The same. A Boom in the Palace. 

Antigonus, Lords, and other Attendants, 
in waiting behind. 

Enter Leontes. 

Leon. Nor night nor day no rest. It is but 
weakness 
To bear the matter thus ; — mere weakness. If 
The cause were not in being, — part o' the cause, 
She the adultress ; for the harlot king 
Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank 
And level b of my brain, plot-proof; but she 
I can hook to me : — say that she were gone, 
Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest 
Might come to me again. — Who 's there ? 

1 Attend. [Advancing."] My lord ! 

Leon. How does the boy ? 

1 Attend. He took good rest to-night ; 

'T is hop'd his sickness is discharg'd. 

Leon. To see his nobleness ! 

Conceiving the dishonour of his mother, 
He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply ; 
Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on 't in himself; 
Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep, 
And downright languish'd. — Leave me solely : — go, 
See how he fares. [Exit Attend.] — Fie, fie ! no 

thought of. him ; — 
The very thought of my revenges that way 
Recoil upon me : in himself too mighty, 
And in his parties, his alliance, — let him be, 
Until a time may serve : for present vengeance, 
Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes 
Laugh at me ; make their pastime at my sorrow : 
They should not laugh, if I could reach tjhem ; n«r 
Shall she, within my power. 

Enter Paulina, with a Child. 

1 Lord. You must not enter. 

Paul. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second 
to me : 



nym " perilous," was sometimes used for biting, caustic, mischie- 
vous ; and in some such sense may very well stand here. 

b out of the hlank 

.' And level of my brain, — ] 
" Blank" and "level" are terms in gunnery; the former mean* 
mark, the latter range. 

p2 




Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, 
Than the queen's life ? a gracious innocent soul, 
More free than he is jealous. 

Ant. That 's enough. 

2 Attend. Madam, he hath not slept to-night ; 
commanded 
None should come at him. 

Paul. Not so hot, good sir ; 

I come to bring him sleep. 'T is such as you, — 
212 



That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh 
At each his needless heavings, — such as you 
Nourish the cause of his awaking : I 
Do come with words as med'cinal as true, 
Honest as either, to purge him of that humour 
That presses him from sleep. 

Leon. What* noise there ho? 



(*) First folio, who. 






ACT II.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[SCENE III 



Paul. No noise, my lord ; but needful conference 
About some gossips for your highness. 

Leon. How ! — 

Away with that audacious lady ! — Antigonus, 
I charg'd thee that she should not come about me : 
I knew she would. 

Ant. I told her so, my lord, 

On your displeasure's peril and on mine, 
She should not visit you. 

Leon. What, canst not rule her ? 

Paul. From all dishonesty he can : in this, 
(Unless he take the course that you have done, 
Commit me, for committing honour) trust it, 
He shall not rule me. 

Ant. La you now ! you hear : 

When she will take the rein, I let her run ; 
But she '11 not stumble. 

Paul. Good my liege, I come, — 

And, I beseech you, hear me, who professes 
Myself your loyal servant, your physician, 
Your most obedient counsellor ; yet that dares 
Less appear so, in comforting a your evils, 
Than such as most seem yours : — I say, I come 
From your good queen. 

Leon. Good queen ! 

Paul. Good queen, my lord, good queen : I 
say, good queen ; 
And would by combat make her good, so were I 
A man, the worst about you. 

Leon. Force her hence. 

Paul. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes 
iTirst hand me : on mine own accord I '11 off ; 
But- first I'll do my errand. — The good queen, 
For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter; 
Here 't is ; commends it to your blessing. 

[Laying down the Child. 

Leon. Out ! 

A mankind 15 witch ! Hence with her, out o' door : 
A most intelligencing bawd ! 

Paul. Not so : 

I am as ignorant in that as you 
In so entitling me : and no less honest c 
Than you are mad ; which is enough, I'll warrant, 
As this world goes, to pass for honest. 

Leon. Traitors ! 

Will you not push her out ? Give her the bastard. — 
Thou dotard \To Antigonus.], thou art woman- 

tir'd, d unroosted 
By thy dame Partlet here : — take up the bastard ; 
Take 't up, I say ; give 't to thy crone. 

Paul. For ever 

Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou 

a — in comforting your evils, — ] "Comforting" is here em- 
ployed in the old and forensic sense of encouraging, abetting, 
&c. 

b A mankind witch!'] See note (a), p. 167. 

c — honest — ] That is, chaste. 

d — woman-tir'd, — ] As we say, hen-pecked. 

• — hy that forced baseness—] By that false appellation, 
bastard. 



Tak'st up the princess by that forced baseness * 
Which he has put upon 't ! 

Leon. He dreads his wife ! 

Paul. So I would you did ; then 't were past 
all doubt 
You 'd call your children yours. 

Leon. A nest of traitors ! 

Ant. I am none, by this good light. 

Paul. Nor I ; nor any, 

But one, that 's here, and that 's himself ; for he 
The sacred honour of himself, his queen's, 
His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander, 
Whose sting is sharper than the sword's ; and 

will not 
(For, as the case now stands, it is a curse 
He cannot be compell'd to 't) once remove 
The root of his opinion, which is rotten, 
As ever oak, or stone, was sound. 

Leon. A callat, 

Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her 

husband, 
And now baits me ! — This brat is none of mine ; 
It is the issue of Polixenes : 
Hence with it ; and, together with the dam, 
Commit them to the fire ! 

Paul. It is yours ; 

And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge, 
So like you, 'tis the worse/ — Behold, my lords, 
Although the print be little, the whole matter 
And copy of the father, — eye, nose, lip ; 
The trick of 's frown ; his forehead ; nay, the valley, 
The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek ; his 

smiles ; 
The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger : — 
And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it 
So like to him that got it, if thou hast 
The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours 
No yellow in 't, lest she suspect, as he does, 
Her children not her husband's ! 

Leon. A gross hag ! — 

And, losel, g thou art worthy to be hang'd, 
That wilt not stay her tongue. 

Ant. Hang all the husbands 

That cannot do that feat, you '11 leave yourself 
Hardly one subject. 

Leon. Once more, take her hence ! 

Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord 
Can do no more. 

Leon. I '11 have thee burn'd. 

Paul. I care not : 

It is an heretic that makes the fire, 
Not she which burns in't. I '11 not call you tyrant ; 



f And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge, 

So like you, 'tis the worse. — ] 
Overbury quotes this " old proverb" in his character of " A Sar- 
geant": — "The devill cals him his white sonne ; he is so like 
him, that he is the worse for it, and hee lokes after his father." — 
Overbtjry's Works, Ed. 1616. 

g — losel, — ] Said to be derived from the Saxon Losian, to 
lose, and to mean an abandoned, worthless fellow. 

213 



ACT II.] 



WINTER'S TALE. 



[SCENE III. 



But thk most cruel usage of your queen 

(Not able to produce more accusation [savours 

Than your own weak-hing'd fancy) something 

Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you, 

Yea, scandalous to the world. 

Leon. On your allegiance, 

Out of the chamber with her ! Were I a tyrant, 
Where were her life ? she durst not call me so, 
If she did know me one. Away with her ! 

Paul. I pray you, do not push me ; I '11 be gone. 
Look to your babe, my lord ; 't is yours : Jove 
send her [hands ? — 

A better guiding spirit ! — What needs these 
You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies, 
Will never do him good, not one of you. 
So, so : — farewell ; we are gone. [Exit. 

Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this. — 
My child ? away with 't ! — even thou, that hast 
A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence, 
And see it instantly consum'd with fire ; 
Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight : 
Within this hour bring me word 't is done, 
(And by good testimony) or I '11 seize thy life, 
With what thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse, 
And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so ; 
The bastard brains with these my proper hands 
Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire ; 
For thou sett'st on thy wife. 

Ant. I did not, sir : 

These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, 
Can clear me in 't. 

1 Lord. We can : — my royal liege, 

He is not guilty of her coming hither. 

Leon. You 're liars all. [credit : 

1 Lord. Beseech your highness, give us better 
We have always truly serv'd you ; and beseech a 
So to esteem of us : and on our knees we beg, 
(As recompense of our dear services 
Past and to come) that you do change this purpose, 
Which being so horrible, so bloody, must 
Lead on to some foul issue : we all kneel. 

Leon. I am a feather for each wind that blows : — 
Shall I live on, to see this bastard kneel 
And call me father ? Better burn it now, 
Than curse it then. But be it ; let it live : — 
It shall not neither. You, sir, come you hither ; 

[To Antigonus. 
You that have been so tenderly officious 
With lady Margery, your midwife, there, 
To save this bastard's life, — for 't is a bastard, 
So sure as this beard 's grey, b — what will you ad- 
venture 
To save this brat's life ? 



a — and beseech — ] Here again in the old text the elision of you 
is marked by an apostrophe ; thus, beseech '. 

*> So sure as this beard's grey, — ] Unless we read according to 
a marginal annotation in Lord Ellesmere's copy of the first folio, 
— " thy beard," we must suppose the king to point to, or touch the 
beard of Antigonus ; he himself, who twenty-three years before 
the play began was unbreeched, could hardly have a grey beard. 

214 



Ant. Anything, my lord, 

That my ability may undergo, 
And nobleness impose : — at least, thus much, 
I '11 pawn the little blood which I have left 
To save the innocent : — anything possible. 

Leon. It shall be possible. Swear by this sword, 
Thou wilt perform my bidding. 

Ant. I will, my lord. 

Leon. Mark, and perform it, seest thou; for 
the fail 
Of any point in 't shall not only be 
Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu'd wife, 
Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee, 
As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry 
This female bastard hence ; and that thou bear it 
To some remote and desert place, quite out 
Of our dominions ; and that there thou leave it, 
Without more mercy, to it c own protection 
And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune 
It came to us, 1 do in justice charge thee, 
On thy soul's peril, and thy body's torture, 
That thou commend 4 it strangely to some place, 
Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up. 

Ant. I swear to do this, though a present 
death 
Had been more merciful. — Come on, poor babe : 
Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens 
To be thy nurses ! Wolves and bears, they say, 
Casting their savageness aside, have done 
Like offices of pity. — Sir, be prosperous 
In more than this deed does require ! — and blessing, 
Against this cruelty, fight on thy side, 
Poor thing, condemn'd to loss ! ( 2 ) 

[Exit, with the Child. 

Leon. No, I '11 not rear 

Another's issue. 

2 Attend. Please your highness, posts, 
From those you sent to the oracle, are come 
An hour since : Cleomenes and Dion, 
Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed, 
Hasting to the court. 

1 Lord. So please you, sir, their speed 

Hath been beyond account. 

Leon. Twenty-three days 

They have been absent : 't is good speed ; foretells 
The great Apollo suddenly will have 
The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords ; 
Summon a session, that we may arraign 
Our most disloyal lady ; for, as she hath 
Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have 
A just and open trial. While she lives, 
My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me ; 
And think upon my bidding. [Exeunt, 

c — to it own protection — ] Although the pronoun " its " occurs 
more frequently in this piece than in any other of Shakespeare's 
plays, showing it to have been one of his last works, that now 
indispensable vocable was still only in its infancy ; for in this drama 
we have " it" in the instance above, arid again in Act III. Sc. 2,— 
" The innocent milke in it most innocent mouth." 

* — commend—] To commend was to commit. 




ACT III. 



SCENE I. — Sicilia. A Street in some Town. 



Enter Cleomenes and Dion. 

Cleo. The climate 's delicate ; the air most 
sweet ; 
Fertile the isle ; the temple much surpassing 
The common praise it hears. 

Dion. I shall report, 

For most it caught me, the celestial habits, 
(Methinks I so should term them) and the re- 
verence 
Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice ! 
How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly 
It was i' the offering ! 

Cleo. But, of all, the burst 

And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle, 
Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpris'd my sense, 
That I was nothing. 

Dion. If the event o' the journey 

Prove as successful to the queen, — 0, be it so ! — 
As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy, 
The time is worth the use on 't. 

Cleo. Great Apollo, 

Turn all to the best ! These proclamations, 
So forcing faults upon Hermione, 
I little like. 



* Silence!] In the old copies this word stands as a stage di- 
rection; but that it was intended for a command, to be spoken by 



Dion. The violent carnage of it 
Will clear or end the business : when the oracle 
(Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up) 
Shall the contents discover, something rare 
Even then will rush to knowledge. — Go, — fresh 

horses ; — 
And gracious be the issue ! [Exeunt. 



SCENE II.— The same. A Court of Justice. 

Leontes, Lords, and Officers discovered, pro- 
perly seated. 

Leon. This sessions (to our great grief we 
pronounce) 
Even pushes 'gainst our heart ; the party tried, 
The daughter of a king, our wife, and one 
Of us too much belov'd. — Let us be clear'd 
Of being tyrannous, since we so openly 
Proceed in justice ; which shall have due course, 

Even to the guilt or the purgation. 

Produce the prisoner. 

Ofei. It is his highness' pleasure that the queen 
Appear in person here in court. — Silence ! * 



the officer, or by the ordinary crier, is evident. Compare the 
opening of the scene of Queen Katharine's trial in " Henry VIII." 

215 




Enter Hermione, guarded ; Paulina and 
Ladies, attending. 

Leon. Read the indictment. 

Offi. [Reads.] Hermione, queen to the worthy 
Leontes, king of Sicilia, thou art here accused 
and arraigned of high treason, in committing 
adultery with Polixenes, king of Bohemia ; and 

» — pretence — ] That is, plot, design, &c. So, in "Macbeth," 
Act II. Sc. 1,— 

216 



conspiring with Camillo to take away the life of 
our sovereign lord the king, thy royal husband : 
the pretence 3, whereof being by circumstances partly 
laid open, thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith 
and allegiance of a true subject, didst counsel and 
aid them, for their better safety, to fly away by 
night. 

" and thence 

Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight 
Of treasonous malice " 




Her. Since what I am to say must be but that 
Which contradicts my accusation, and 
The testimony on my part no other 
But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot 

me 
To say, Not guilty ; mine integrity, 
Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it, 
Be so received. But thus, — If powers divine 
Behold our human actions (as they do), 



I doubt not, then, but innocence shall make 
False accusation blush, and tyranny 
Tremble at patience. — You, my lord, best know 
(Who least will seem to do so) my past life 
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, 
As I am now unhappy ; which is more 
Than history can pattern, though devis'd 
And play'd to take spectators ; for behold me,— 
A fellow of the roval bed, which owe 

217 



ACT III. J 



WINTER'S TALE. 



[SCENE II. 



A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter, 

The mother to a hopeful prince, — here standing, 

To prate and talk for life and honour 'fore 

Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it 

As I weigh grief, a which I would spare : for honour, 

'T is a derivative from me to mine, 

And only that I stand for. I appeal 

To your own conscience, sir, hefore Polixenes 

Came to your court, how I was in your grace, 

How merited to be so ; since he came, 

With what encounter so uncurrent I 

Have strain'd, to appear thus : b if one jot beyond 

The bound of honour, or in act or will 

That way inclining, harden'd be the hearts 

Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin 

Cry Fie ! upon my grave ! 

Leon. I ne'er heard yet 

That any of these bolder vices wanted 
Less impudence to gainsay what they did, 
Than to perform it first. 

Heb. That's true enough; 

Though 't is a saying, sir, not due to me. 

Leon. You will not own it. 

Her. More than mistress of 

Which comes to me in name of fault, I must 

not 
At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, 
(With whom I am accus'd) I do confess 
I lov'd him, — as in honour he requir'd, — 
With such a kind of love as might become 
A lady like me ; with a love, even such, 
So and no other, as yourself commanded : 
Which not to have done, I think had been in me 
Both disobedience and ingratitude 
To you and toward your friend ; whose love had 

spoke, 
Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely, 
That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, 
I know not how it tastes ; though it be dish'd 
For me to try how : all I know of it, 
Is that Camillo was an honest man ; 
And why he left your court, the gods themselves, 
Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. 

Leon. You knew of his departure, as you 
know 
What you have underta'en to do in 's absence. 

Heb. Sir, 
You speak a language that I understand not : 



» For life, I prize it 

As I weigh grief, which I would spare:] 
It is surprising this passage should have passed without question, 
for " grief" must surely be an error. Hermione means that life 
to her is of as little estimation as the most trivial thing which 
she would part with ; and she expresses the same sentiment 
shortly after, in similar terms, — 

" no life, — 

I prize it not a straw." 
Could she speak of " grief" as a trifle, of no moment or import- 
ance f 
o With what encounter so uncurrent I 

Have "train'd, to appear thus :] 

218 



My life stands in the level of your dreams," 
Which I '11 lay down. 

Leon. Your actions are my dreams ; 

You had a bastard by Polixenes, 
And I but dream'd it : — as you were past all 

shame, 
(Those of your fact d are so,) so past all truth ; 
Which to deny, concerns more than avails ; for as 
Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, 
No father owning it, (which is, indeed, 
More criminal in thee than it) so thou 
Shalt feel our justice ; in whose easiest passage, 
Look for no less than death.(l) 

Heb. Sir, spare your threats ; 

The bug which you would fright me with, I seek. 
To me can life be no commodity : 
The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, 
I do give lost ; for I do feel it gone, 
But know not how it went : my second joy, 
And first-fruits of my body, from his presence 
I am barr'd, like one infectious : my third comfort, 
Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast, 
The innocent milk in it e most innocent mouth, 
Hal'd out to murder : myself on every post 
Proclaim'd a strumpet ; with immodest hatred, 
The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs 
To women of all fashion ; — lastly, hurried 
Here to this place, i' the open air, before 
I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege, 
Tell me what blessings I have here alive, 
That I should fear to die ? Therefore, proceed. 
But yet hear this ; mistake me not ; — no life, — ■ 
I prize it not a straw : — but for mine honour, 
(Which I would free) if I shall be condemn'd 
Upon surmises, — all proofs sleeping else, 
But what your jealousies awake, — I tell you 
'T is rigour, and not law. — Your honours all, 
I do refer me to the oracle : 
Apollo be my judge I ( 2 ) 

1 Lobd. This your request 

Is altogether just : — therefore, bring forth, 
And in Apollo's name, his oracle. 

[Exeunt certain Officers. 

Heb. The emperor of Russia was my father : 
O, that he were alive, and here beholding 
His daughter's trial ! that he did but see 
The flatness of my misery, — yet with eyes 
Of pity, not revenge ! 



This is not remarkably perspicuous ; the sense appears to be,— 
By what unwarrantable familiarity have I lapsed, that I should 
be made to stand as a public criminal thus ? 

c — in the level—] To be in the level is to be within the range 
or compass ; — " and therefore when under his covert or pertision 
he is gotten within his levell and hath the Winde fit and certaine, 
then hee shall make choice of his marke," &c. — Markham's 
Hunger's Prevention, 1621, p. 45. 

d (Those of your fact — ] Those of your crime. Thus, it 
" Pericles," Act IV. Sc. 3,— 

" Becoming well thy fact." 

« — in it most innocent mouth, — ] See note (b), p. 214. 



ACT III.] 



WINTER'S TALE. 



[scene it 



Re-enter Officers, vnth Cleomenes and Dion. 

Offi. You here shall swear upon this sword of 
justice, 
That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have 
Been both at Delphos ; and from thence have 

brought 
This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd 
Of great Apollo's priest ; and that, since then, 
You have not dar'd to break the holy seal, 
Nor read the secrets in 't. 

Cleo. and Dion. All this we swear. 

Leon. Break up the seals, and read. 

Ofpi. [Reads.] Hermione is chaste ; Polixenes 
blameless; Camillo a true subject; Leontes a 
jealous tyrant ; his innocent babe truly begotten ; 
and the king shall live without an heir, if that 
which is lost be not found. ( 3 ) 

Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo ! 

Her. Praised ! 

Leon. Hast thou read truth ? 

Offi. Ay, my lord ; even so 

As it is here set down. 

Leon. There is no truth at all i' the oracle : 
The sessions shall proceed : this is mere falsehood. 

Enter an Attendant, hastily. 

Atten. My lord the king, the king ! 
Leon. What is the business ? 

Atten. O sir, I shall be hated to report it ! 
The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear 
Of the queen's speed, a is gone. 

Leon. How ! gone ? 

Atten. Is dead. 

Leon. Apollo 's angry ; and the heavens them- 
selves 
Do strike at my injustice. [Hermione faints.~\ 
How now there ! 
Paul. This news is mortal to the queen. — 
Look down, 
And see what death is doing. 

Leon. Take her hence : 

Her heart is but o'ercharg'd ; she will recover : — 
I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion : — 
Beseech you tenderly apply to her 
Some remedies for life. — 

[Exeunt Paulina and Ladies, with 
Hermione. 

Apollo, pardon 
My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle ! — 
I '11 reconcile me to Polixenes ; 



» Of the queen's speed,—] Of the queen's fate, hap, for- 



tune. 
b 



No richer than his honour, how he glisters 
Thorough my rust ! and how his piety 
Does ray deeds make the blacker!] 



The force of this is miserably enfeebled by the punctuation here- 
tofore adopted,— 



New woo my queen ; recall the good Camillo, 

Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy ; 

For, being transported by my jealousies 

To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose 

Camillo for the minister, to poison 

My friend Polixenes : which had been done, 

But that the good mind of Camillo tardied 

My swift command, though I with death, and with 

Reward, did threaten and encourage him, 

Not doing it, and being done : he, most humane, 

And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest 

Unclasp'd my practice ; quit his fortunes here, 

Which you knew great ; and to the hazard 

Of all iucertainties himself commended. 

No richer than his honour, how he glisters 

Thorough my rust ! and how his piety 

Does my deeds make the blacker ! b 

Re-enter Paulina. 

Paul. Woe the while ! 

O, cut my lace ; lest my heart, cracking it, 
Break too ! 

1 Lord. What fit is this, good lady ? 

Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for 
me? 
What wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? 

boiling 
In leads or oils ? what old or newer torture 
Must I receive, whose every word deserves 
To taste of thy most worst ? Thy tyranny 
Together working with thy jealousies, — 
Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle 
For girls of nine ! — O, think what they have done, 
And then run mad indeed, — stark mad ! for all 
Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. 
That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 't was nothing, — 
That did but show thee of a fool, c inconstant 
And damnable 4 ingrateful ; nor was 't much, 
Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour 
To have him kill a king ; — poor trespasses, 
More monstrous standing by : whereof I reckon 
The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter, 
To be or none, or little, — though a devil 
Would have shed water out of fire, ere done 't ; 
Nor is 't directly laid to thee, the death 
Of the young prince, whose honourable thoughts 
(Thoughts high for one so tender) cleft the heart 
That could conceive a gross and foolish sire 
Blemish'd his gracious dam : this is not, no, 
Laid to thy answer : but the last, — O, lords, 

" and to the hazard 

Of all uncertainties himself commendfcd, 
No richer than his honour. How he glisters," &c. 
c That did but show thee of a fool,—] Theobald proposed to 
read, — "of a soul;" and Warburton, — " show thee off, a 
fool ; " but any change would be to destroy a form of speech 
characteristic of the author's time; "of a fool," is the same as 
"for a fool." 
A And damnable ingrateful ;] That is, " damnably ingrateful.' 

219 



ACT III.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[SCENE III. 



When I have said, cry, Woe ! a — the queen, the 

queen, 
The sweet'st, dear'st creature 's dead ; and ven- 
geance for 't 
Not dropp'd down jet ! 

1 Lord. The higher powers forbid ! 

Paul. I say, she 's dead ; I '11 swear 't. If 
word nor oath 
Prevail not, go and see : if you can bring 
Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye, 
Heat outwardly or breath within, I '11 serve you 
As I would do the gods. — But, 0, thou tyrant ! 
Do not repent these things ; for they are heavier 
Than all thy woes can stir : therefore betake thee 
To nothing but despair. A thousand knees, 
Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, 
Upon a barren mountain, and still winter, 
In storm perpetual, could not move the gods 
To look that way thou wert. 

Leon. Go on, go on : 

Thou canst not speak too much ; I have deserv'd 
All tongues to talk their bitterest. 

1 Lord. Say no more ; 

Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault 
I' the boldness of your speech. 

Paul. I am sorry for 't ; 

All faults I make, when I shall come to know them, 
I do repent. Alas, I have show'd too much 
The rashness of a woman ! he is touch'd 
To the noble heart. — What 's gone, and what 's 

past help, 
Should be past grief; do not receive affliction 
At my petition ; b I beseech you, rather 
Let me be punish'd, that have minded you 
Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege, — 
Sir, royal sir, — forgive a foolish woman : 
The love I bore your queen, — lo, fool again ! — 
I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children ; 
I '11 not remember you of my own lord, 
Who is lost too : take your patience to you, 
And I '11 say nothing. 

Leon. Thou didst speak but well, 

When most the truth ; which I receive much 

better 
Than to be pitied of thee. Pr'ythee, bring me 
To the dead bodies of my queen and son : 
One grave shall be for both ; upon them shall 
The causes of their death appear, unto 



a When I have said, cry, Woe!] When I have done, do you 
cry, Woe! 

b do not receive affliction 

At ray petition;] 
We should perhaps read, — "do not revive affliction," &c, but 
certainly not, — 

" do not receive affliction 

At repetition ; " 
as suggested by Mr. Collier's annotator. 

c Thou art perfect, then, — ] "Perfect" is commonly used by 
our old writers for confident, well assured ; thus in "Cymbeline," 
Act III. Sc. 1, — "I am -perfect that the Pannonians and Dalma- 
tians are — " &c. 

220 



Our shame perpetual. Once a day I '11 visit 
The chapel where they lie ; and tears shed there 
Shall be my recreation : so long as nature 
Will bear up with this exercise, so long 
I daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me 
To these sorrows. [Exeunt 



SCENE III. — Bohemia. A desert Country neon 
the Sea. 

Enter AlNtigonus with the Babe ; and a Mariner 

Ant. Thou art perfect then, our ship hath 
touch'd upon 
The deserts of Bohemia? 

Mar. Ay, my lord ; and fear 

We have landed in ill time : the skies look grimly, 
And threaten present blusters ; in my conscience, 
The heavens with that we have in hand are angry, 
And frown upon us. 

Ant. Their sacred wills be done ! — Go, get 
aboard ; 
Look to thy bark ; I '11 not be long before 
I call upon thee. 

Mar. Make your best haste ; and go not 
Too far i' the land : 't is like to be loud weather ; 
Besides, this place is famous for the creatures 
Of prey that keep upon 't. 

Ant. Go thou away : 

I '11 follow instantly. 

Mar. I am glad at heart 

To be so rid o' the business. [Exit. 

Ant. Come, poor babe : — 

I have heard (but not believ'd) the spirits o' the 

dead 
May walk again : if such thing be, thy mother 
Appear'd to me last night ; for ne'er was dream 
So like a waking. To me comes a creature, 
Sometimes her head on one side, some, another ; 
I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, 
So fill'd, and so becoming : d in pure white robes, 
Like very sanctity, she did approach 
My cabin where I lay ; thrice bow'd before me ; 
And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes 
Became two spouts : the fury spent, anon 
Did this break from her : Good Antigonus, 
Since fate, against thy better disposition, 



d So fill'd, and so becoming:] Mr. Collier's annotator suggests, 
and Mr. Collier adopts, an alteration which at once destroys the 
meaning of the poet, and converts a beauteous image into one 
pre-eminently ludicrous : — 

" So fill'd, and so o'er-running " ! 

" So becoming" here means, so s elf -restrained : not as it is usually 
explained, so decent, or so dignified. Compare the following in 
" Romeo and Juliet," Act IV. Sc. 2, — 

" I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell ; 
And gave him what becomed love I might, 
Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty." 






ACT III.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[scene III. 



Hath made thy person for the thrower-out 

Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, 

Places remote enough are in Bohemia, 

There weep, and leave it, crying ; and, for the 

babe 
Is counted lost for ever, Perdita, 
I pr'ythee, call H. For this ungentle business, 
Put on thee by my lord, thou n£er shalt see 
Thy wife Paulina more : — and so, with shrieks, 
She melted into air. Affrighted much, 
I did in time collect myself ; and thought 
This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys ; 
Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously, 
I will be squar'd by this. I do believe 
Hermione hath suffer'd death ; and that 
Apollo would, this being indeed the issue 
Of king Polixenes, it should here be laid, 
Either for life or death, upon the earth 
Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well ! — 

[Laying down the Child. 
There lie; and there thy character:* there these ; — 

[Laying down a bundle. 
Which may, if Fortune please both breed thee, 

(pretty !) 
And still rest thine. b — The storm begins : — poor 

wretch, 

That, for thy mother's fault, art thus expos'd 
To loss and what may follow ! — Weep I cannot, 
But my heart bleeds : and most accurs'd am I 
To be by oath enjoin'd to this. — Farewell ! 
The day frowns more and more : — thou 'rt like to 

have 
A lullaby too rough : — I never saw 
The heavens so dim by day. — 

[Noise without of Hunters and Dogs. 

A savage clamour ! — 

Well may I get aboard ! — [Sees a Lear.] This is 

the chase ! 
I am gone for ever ! [Exit, pursued by the Bear. 

Enter an old Shepherd. 

Shep. I would there were no age between ten 
and three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep 
out the rest ; for there is nothing in the between 
but getting wenches with child, wronging the 
ancientry, stealing, fighting — Hark you now ! — 
Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen and 

* — thy character :] Some ciphers and the name, " Perdita," by 
which the child hereafter might be recognised. 

b Blossom, speed thee well ! — 

There lie ; and there thy character : there these ; — 
Which may, if Fortune please both breed thee, (pretty!) 
And still rest thine.] 

The meaning is manifestly, — " Poor Blossom, good speed to thee ! 
which may happen, despite thy present desolate condition, if 
Fortune please to adopt thee, (thou pretty one I) and remain thy 
constant friend ; ' the intermediate line, — " There lie," &c. being, 
of course, parenthetical. From the punctuation hitherto adopted, — 

" Blossom, speed thee well ! 
There lie ; and there thy character ; there these ; 



two-and-twenty hunt this weather? They have 
scared away two of my best sheep, which I fear 
the wolf will sooner find than the master ; if any- 
where I have them, 't is by the sea-side, browzing 
of ivy.(4) Good luck, an 't be thy will ! — What 
have we here? [Taking up the Babe.'] Mercy on 's, 
a barne ; a very pretty barne ! A boy or a child, c 
I wonder ? A pretty one ; a very pretty one : sure, 
some scape : though I am not bookish, yet I can 
read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has 
been some stair- work, some trunk- work, some 
behind-door-work : they were warmer that got 
this than the poor thing is here. I '11 take it up 
for pity : yet I '11 tarry till my son come ; he hol- 
laed but even now. — Whoa, ho hoa ! 

Clo. [Without] Hilloa, loa ! 

Shep. What, art so near ? If thou 'It see a 
thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, 
come hither. 



Enter Clown. 

What ail est thou, man ? 

Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea and 
by land ! — but I am not to say it is a sea, for it is 
now the sky ; betwixt the firmament and it you 
cannot thrust a bodkin's point. 

Shep. Why, boy, how is it ? 

Clo. I would you did but see how it chafes, 
how it rages, how it takes up the shore ! — but 
that 's not to the point. O, the most piteous cry 
of the poor souls ! sometimes to see 'em, and not 
to see 'em ; now the ship boring the moon with 
her mainmast, and anon swallowed with yest and 
froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. 
And then for the land-service, — to see how the 
bear tore out his shoulder-bone ; how he cried to 
me for help, and said his name was Antigonus, a 
nobleman : — but to make an end of the ship, — to 
see how the sea flap-dragoned it d : — but, first, how 
the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them ; 
— and how the poor gentleman roared, and the 
bear mocked him, both roaring louder than the 
sea or weather. 

Shep. Name of mercy ! when was this, boy ? 

Clo. Now, now ; I have not winked since I saw 
these sights : the men are not yet cold under 

Which may, if Fortune please, both breed thee pretty. 
And still rest thine," 

the editors, one and all, must have supposed Antigonus to antici- 
pate that the rich clothes, &c. which he leaves with the child, might 
breed it beautiful and prove of permanent utility to it in its after 
course of life. 

c A boy or a child, I wonder ?] " 1 am told, that in some of our 
inland counties, a female infant, in contradistinction to a maleone, 
is still termed, among the peasantry, — a child." — Steevens. 

In support of this, Mr. Halliwell quotes the following from 
Hole's MS. Glossary of Devonshire Words, collected about 1780, 
" A child, a female infant." 

d — the sea flap-dragoned it : — ] This may mean, — swallowed 
it as our old revellers did a flap-dragon. 

221 










water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman, 
— he 's at it now. 

Shep. Would I had been by, to have helped 
the old man ! 

Clo. I would you had been by the ship side, to 
have helped her ; there your charity would have 
lacked footing. 

Shep. Heavy matters ! heavy matters ! but 

* — a "bearing cloth — ] The mantle in which an infant was 
wrapped when carried to the font to be baptized. 

222 



look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself; thou 
mett'st with things dying, I with things new born. 
Here 's a sight for thee ; look thee, a bearing 
cloth* for a squire's child! look thee here! take 
up, take up, boy ; open 't. So, let 's see : — it was 
told me I should be rich by the fairies ; this is 
some changeling : — open 't. What 's within, boy ? 
Clo. You 're a made* old man ; if the sins of 






(*) Old text, mad. 






ACT Til] 



WINTER'S TALE. 



[8CENE III. 



your youth are forgiveu you, you 're well to live. 
Gold! all gold! 

Shep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 't will prove 
go : up with it, keep it close ; a home, home, the 
next 5 way. We are lucky, boy, and to be so still, 
requires nothing but secrecy. — Let my sheep go : 
. — come, good boy, the next way home. 

Clo. Go you the next way with your findings. 
I '11 go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman, 
and how much he hath eaten: they are never 

» This is fairy gold, keep it close ;] To divulge the posses- 
sion of fairies' gifts was supposed to entail misfortune. Thus, Ben 
Jonson, — 

" A prince's secrets are like fairy favours, 
Wholesome if kept ; but poison if diacover'd." 



curst c but when they are hungry : if there be any 
of him left, I '11 bury it. 

Shep. That's a good deed. If thou mayest 
discern by that which is left of him, what he is, 
fetch me to the sight of him. 

Clo. Marry, will I ; and you shall help to put 
him i' the ground. 

Shep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do good 
deeds on 't. [Exeunt. 



* — the next way.'] " The next way " meant the nearest way 
c — curst — ] That is, malicious, dangerous. 







AOT IV. J 



TIIE WINTER'S TALE. 



ACT IV. 

Enter Time, as Chorus. 



Time. I, — that please some, try all ; both joy 
and terror 
Of good and bad; — that make and unfold error ; — ' 
Now take upon me, in the name of Time, 
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime 
To me or my swift passage, that I slide 
O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried 
Of that wide gap ; since it is in my power 
To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour 
To' plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass 
The same I am, ere ancient'st order was, 
Or what is now receiv'd : I witness to 
The times that brought them in ; so shall I do 
To the freshest things now reigning, and make stale 
The glistering of this present, as my tale 
Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, 
I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing 



» Leontes leaving, — 

The effects of his fond jealousies so grieving, 
That he shuts up himself; — imagine me, 
Gentle spectators, that I now may be 
In fair Bohemia;] 
It is hardly credible that, in every edition, not excepting even that 
of Mr. Dyce, which is immeasurably superior to most others in the 
article of punctuation, these lines should stand thus, — 
" — Leontes leaving 
The effects of his fond jealousies ; so grieving 
That he shuts up himself; imagine me," &c. ! 
If the absurdity of representing Leontes as "leaving" the conse- 
quences of his foolish jealousies, and at the same time as so 
" grieving" over them that he shuts himself up. were not enough to 



As you had slept between. Leontes leaving, — 

The effects of his fond jealousies so grieving, 

That he shuts up himself ; — imagine me, 

Gentle spectators, that I now may be 

In fair Bohemia ; a and remember well, 

I mentioned a son o' the king's, which Florizel 

I now name to you ; and with speed so pace 

To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace 

Equal with wondering : what of her ensues 

I list not prophesy ; but let Time's news 

Be known when 't is brought forth : — a shepherd's 

daughter, 
And what to her adheres, which follows after, 
Is the argument of Time. Of this allow, 
If ever you have spent time worse ere now ; 
If never, yet that Time himself doth say, 
He wishes earnestly you never may. \_Exit. 



indicate the poet's meaning, how could any editor possibly miss it 
who had bestowed a moment's reflection on the parallel passage in 
the original story? — " This epitaph being ingraven, Pandosto 
would once a day repaire to the tombe, and there with watry 
plaintes bewaile his misfortune, coveting no other companion but 
sorrowe, nor no other harmonie but repentance. But leaving him 
to his dolorous passions, at last let us come to shewe the tragicall 
discourse of the young infant." Compare, too, the corresponding 
lines in Sabie's " Fisherman's Tale," 1595, — 

" He having thus her funerals dispatcht, 
Liv'd in vast dolour, and perpetuall griefe, 
Sighing, and crying out against the Fates; 
Amid these woes, whome now T meane to leave. 
And make recourse unto this little babe," &c. 








SCENE I. — Bohemia. A Room in the Palace of Polixenes. 



Enter Polixenes and Camtllo. 

Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more 
importunate : 'tis a sickness denying thee any- 
thing ; a death to grant this. 

Cam. It is fifteen years since I saw my country : 
though I have, for the most part, been aired 
abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, 
the penitent king, my master, hath sent for me ; 
J to whose feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or 
!I o'erween to think so, — which is another spur to 
my departure. 

Pol. As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out 
the rest of thy services by leaving me now : the 
need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath 
made ; better not to have had thee, than thus to 
want thee : thou, having made me businesses 
which none without thee can sufficiently manage, 
must either stay to execute them thyself, or take 
away with thee the very services thou hast done ; 
which if I have not enough considered, (as too 
much I cannot) to be more thankful to thee shall 
be my study ; and my profit therein, the heaping 
friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia, pr'ythee 
speak no more ; whose very naming punishes me 
with the remembrance of that penitent, as thou 

a — but I have missingly noted, — ] Hanmer, with some plau- 
sibility, reads, — "musingly noted," and Mr. Collier's annotator 
l roposes the same substitution. 

*» — but Hear the angle that plucks our ton thither.] " But," in 

225 



callest him, and reconciled king, my brother ; 
whose loss of his most precious queen and children 
are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, 
when sawest thou the prince Plorizel, my son ? 
Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being 
gracious, than they are in losing them when they 
have approved their virtues. 

Cam. Sir, it is three days since I saw the 
prince. What his happier affairs may be, are to me 
unknown; but I have missingly a noted, he is of 
late much retired from court, and is less frequent 
to his princely exercises than formerly he hath 
appeared. 

Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo, and 
with some care ; so far, that I have eyes under my 
service which look upon his removedness, from whom 
I have this intelligence ; — that he is seldom from 
the house of a most homely shepherd ; a man, 
they say, that from very nothing, and beyond the 
imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an 
unspeakable estate. 

Cam. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who 
hath a daughter of most rare note : the report of 
her is extended more than can be thought to begin 
from such a cottage. 

Pol. That 's likewise part of my intelligence ; 
but b I fear the angle that plucks our son thither. 

this place, is the Saxon Botan = to boot, and the King's meaning, 
— The attractions of that girl form part of my intelligence, 
and they are, I apprehend, the angle which draws the prince 
there. 







Thou shalt accompany us to the place ; where 
we will, not appearing what we are, have some 
question with the shepherd ; from whose simplicity 
I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's 
resort thither. Pr'ythee, be my present partner in 
this business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. 

Cam. I willingly obey your command. 

Pol. My best Camillo ! — We must disguise 
ourselves. [Exeunt. 

226 



SCENE II.— The same. A Road near the 
Shepherd's Cottage. 

Enter Autolycus, singing. 

When daffodils begin to peer, — 

With hey I the doxy over the dale, — 

Why then comes in the sweet o' the year ; 
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pah. 






ACT IV."! 



WINTER'S TALE. 



[SCENE II. 



The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, 

With hey ! the sweet birds, 0, how they sing ! 

Doth set my pugging a tooth on edge ; 
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. 

The lark that tirra-lirra chants, — 

With hey I with hey I b the thrush and the jay, — 
Are summer songs for me and my aunts, 

While we lie tumbling in the hay. 

I have served prince Florizel, and, in my time, 
wore three -pile ; c but now I am out of service : 

But shall I go mourn for that, my dear ? [Singing. 

The pale moon shines by night ; 
And when I wander here and there, 

I then do most go right. 

If tinkers may have leave to live, 

And bear the sow-skin budget ; 
Then my account I well may give, 

And in the stocks avouch it. 

My traffic is sheets ; when the kite builds, look to 
lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus; 
who, being as I am, littered under Mercury, was 
likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With 
die and drab I purchased this caparison ; and my 
revenue is the silly cheat : d gallows and knock 
are too powerful on the highway ; beating and 
hanging are terrors to me ; for the life to come, I 
sleep out the thought of it. — A prize ! a prize ! 

Enter Clown. 

Clo. Let me see :— every 'leven wether tods ; e 
every tod yields — pound and odd shilling : fifteen 
hundred shorn, what comes the wool to ? 

Aut. If the springe hold, the cock 's mine. 

\_Aside. 

Clo. I cannot do 't without counters. — Let me 
see; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing 
feast? [Reads.] Three pound of sugar ; five pound 

of currants ; rice What will this sister of mine 

do with rice? But my father hath made her 
mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She 
hath made me four-and-twenty nosegays for the 
shearers, — three-man song-men f all, and very good 
ones ; but they are most of them means and bases ; 
but one Puritan amongst them, and he sings 
psalms to hornpipes. I must have saffron, to 
colour the warden 2 pies ; mace, — dates, — none, 
that's out of my note ; [Beads.] nutmegs, seven; 
a race or two of ginger ; but that I may beg ; — 

a — pugging tooth — ] Pugging was a cant term equivalent to 
prigging, 

b With hey ! with hey !] The second " with hey ! " was added in 
the folio of 1632. 

c — three-pile;] That is, three-piled velvet. 

d — the silly cheat :] A technical phrase in rogues' parlance, 
meaning petty theft. 

227 



four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o' 
the sun. » 

Aut. O, that ever I was born ! 

[Grovelling on the ground, 

Clo. V the name of me 

Aut. 0, help me, help me ! pluck but off these 
rags ; and then, death, death ! 

Clo. Alack, poor soul ! thou hast need of more 
rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off. 

Aut. O, sir, the loathsomeness of them offend 
me more than the stripes I have received ; which 
are mighty ones and millions. 

Clo. Alas, poor man ! a million of beating may 
come to a great matter. 

Aut. I am robbed, sir, and beaten ; my money 
and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable 
things put upon me. 

Clo. What by, a horse-man or a foot-man ? 

Aut. A foot-man, sweet sir, a foot-man. 

Clo. Indeed, he should be a foot-man by the 
garments he has left with thee ; if this be a 
horse-man's coat, it hath seen very hot service. 
Lend me thy hand, I '11 help thee : come, lend me 
thy hand. [Helping him up. 

Aut. 0, good sir ! tenderly, ! 

Clo. AJas, poor soul ! 

Aut. O, good sir ! softly, good sir ! I fear, sir, 
my shoulder-blade is out. 

Clo. How now ! canst stand ? 

Aut. Softly, dear sir ; [Picks 7m pocket.~] good 
sir, softly. You ha' done me a charitable office. 

Clo. Dost lack any money ? I have a little 
money for thee. 

Aut. No, good sweet sir ; no, I beseech you, 
sir : I have a kinsman not past three-quarters of a 
mile hence, unto whom I was going ; I shall there 
have money, or anything I want. Offer me no 
money, I pray you, — that kills my heart. 

Clo. What manner of fellow was he that robbed 
you? 

Aut. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go 
about with trol-my- dames : CO I knew him once a 
servant of the prince ; I cannot tell, good sir, for 
which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly 
whipped out of the court. 

Clo. His vices, you would say; there's no 
virtue whipped out of the court : they cherish it, 
to make it stay there ; and yet it will no more but 
abide. h 

Aut. Vices, I would say, sir. I know this 
man well : he hath been since an ape-bearer ; (2) 
then a process-server, a bailiff; then he com- 
passed a motion of the Prodigal Son, (3) and married 

e — every 'leven wether tods ;] He means, every eleven wethers 
yields a tod, i. e. twent -eight pounds of wool. 

f — three-man song-.».en— ] Singers of songs in three parts. 

g — warden pies ;] Wardens was the old name for a species of 
pears. 

h — and yet it will no more but abide.] Equivalent to, — And 
yet it will barely, or with difficulty, remain. 

q2. 







a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and 
living lies ; and, having flown over many knavish 
professions, he settled only in rogue : some call him 
Autolycus. 

Clo. Out upon him ! prig, for my life, prig : 
he haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. 

Atjt. Very true, sir ; he, sir, he ; that 's the 
rogue that put me into this apparel. 

Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bo- 
hemia ; if you had but looked big and spit at him, 
he 'd have run. 

Aut. I must confess to yoa, sir, I am no 
fighter ; I am false of heart that way ; and that 
he knew, I warrant him. 

Clo. How do you now ? 

Aut. Sweet sir, much better than I was ; I can 
stand and walk : I will even take my leave of you, 
and pace softly towards my kinsman's. 

Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way ? 

Aut. No, good-faced sir ; no, sweet sir 
228 



Clo. Then fare thee well ; I must go buy 
spices for our sheep-shearing. 

Aut. Prosper you, sweet sir ! — [Exit Clown.] 
— Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your 
spice. I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing 
too. If I make not this cheat bring out another, 
and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled,* 
and my name put in the book of virtue ! 

[Singing 

Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, 
And merrily hent* the stile-a : 

A merry heart goes all the day, 

Tour sad tires in a mile-aS£) [Exit 



a — let me be unrolled,—] Struck off the roll of vagabonds, and 
entered on the hook of true men. 

b hent the stile-a :] " Hent " is from the Saxon hentan,—to take. 



ACT IV.l 



WINTER'S TALE. 



[SCENE III. 



SCENE III.— The same. Before a Shepherd's 
Cottage. 

Enter Flobizel and Perdita. 

Flo. These your unusual weeds to each part of 
you 
Do give a life : no shepherdess ; but Flora, 
Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing 
Is as a meeting of the petty gods, 
And you the queen on't. 

Per. Sir, my gracious lord, 

To chide at your extremes, it not becomes me, — 
O, pardon, that I name them ! — your high self, 
The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscur'd 
With a swain's wearing ; and me, poor lowly 

maid, 
Most goddess-like prank'd up : but that our 

feasts 
In every mess have folly, and the feeders 
Digest it with a custom, I should blush 
To see you so attired ; swoon, a I think, 
To show myself a glass. 

Flo. I bless the time, 

When my good falcon made her flight across 
Thy father's ground.(S) 

Per. Now Jove afford you cause ! 

To me, the difference forges dread ; your great- 
ness 
Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble 
To think your father by some accident 
Should pass this way, as you did : O, the Fates ! 
How would he look, to see his work, so noble, 
Vilely bound up ? What would he say ? Or how 
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold 
The sternness of his presence ? 

Flo. Apprehend 

Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, 
Humbling their deities to love, have taken 
The shapes of beasts upon them : Jupiter 
Became a bull, and bellow'd ; the green Neptune 
A ram, and bleated ; and the fire-rob'd god, 
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, 
As I seem now : (6) — their transformations 
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer, 
Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires 
Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts 
Burn hotter than my faith. 

Per. O, but, sir, 

Your resolution cannot hold, when 't is 
Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power of the king; 
One of these two must be necessities, 



c ■ swoon, I think, 

To show myself a glass.] 

So Hanmer ; and to our mind the emendation is so convincingly 
true, that we are astonished it should ever have been questioned. 



Which then will speak, — that you must change 

this purpose, 
Or I my life. 

Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, 

With these forc'd thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken not 
The mirth o' the feast : or I'll be thine, my fair, 
Or not my father's ; for I cannot be 
Mine own, nor anything to any, if 
I be not thine : to this I am most constant, 
Though destiny say Ho. Be merry, gentle ! b 
Strangle such thoughts as these with anything 
That you behold the while. Your guests are 

coming : 
Lift up your countenance, as it were the day 
Of celebration of that nuptial which 
We two have sworn shall come. 

Per. O, lady Fortune, 

Stand you auspicious ! 

Flo. See, your guests approach : 

Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, 
And let's be red with mirth. 



Enter Shepherd, with Polixenes and Camlllo 
disguised; Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, and 
other Shepherds and Shepherdesses. 

Shep. Fie, daughter ! when my old wife hVd, 

upon 
This day she was both pantler, butler, cook ; 
Both dame and servant : welcom'd all ; serv'd all ; 
Would sing her song and dance her turn ; now 

here, 
At upper end o' the table, now, i' the middle ; 
On his shoulder, and his ; her face o' fire 
With labour, and the thing she took to quench it, 
She would to each one sip. You are retir'd 
As if you were a feasted one, and not 
The hostess of the meeting : pray you, bid 
These unknown friends to us welcome ; for it is 
A way to make us better friends, more known. 
Come, quench your blushes, and present yourseli 
That which you are, mistress o' the feast : come 

on, 
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, 
As your good flock shall prosper. 

Per. * Sir, welcome ! 

[To Polixenes. 
It is my father's will I should take on me 
The hostess-ship o' the day. — You're welcome, 

sir ! [To Camlllo. 

Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. — .Reverend 

sirs, 



The old copies have, " — sworne, I think." 

b Be merry, gentle !] Mr. Collier's annotator, in his rage for 
reformation, changes this to, " Be merry, girl." The meaning is 
obviously, — Be merry, gentle one ! 

229 







For you there's rosemary and rue ; these keep 
Seeming and savour all the winter long : 
Grace and remembrance be to you both, 
And welcome to our shearing ! 



— well you fit our age* 
With flowers of winter.] 

230 



Pol. Shepherdess. 

(A fair one are you) well you fit our ages 
With flowers of winter.* 

Feb. Sir, the year growing ancient, — 



From the reply of Perdita, we might conjecture that Polixenes 
had asked reproachfully,—" Will you fit our ages with flowers of 
winter ? " 



ACT IV.] 



WINTER'S TALE. 



[SCENE III 



Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth 

Of trembling winter, — the fairest flowers o' the 

season 
Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyvors, a 
Which some call nature's bastards : of that kind 
Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not 
To get slips of them. 

Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden, 

Do you neglect them ? 

Per. For I have heard it said, 

There is an art which, in their piedness, shares 
With great creating nature. 

Pol. Say there be ; 

Yet nature is made better by no mean, 
But nature makes that mean : so, o'er that art, 
Which you say adds to nature, is an art 
That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we 

marry 
A gentler scion to the wildest stock, 
And make conceive a bark of baser kind 
By bud of nobler race : this is an art 
Which does mend nature, — change it rather ; but 
The art itself is nature. 

Per. So it is. 

Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyvors, 
And do not call them bastards. 

Per. I'll not put 

The dibble in earth to set one slip of them ; 
No more than, were I painted, I would wish 
This youth should say, 'twere well; and only 

therefore 
Desire to breed by me. — Here's flowers for you : 
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram ; 
The marigold, b that goes to bed wi' the sun, 
And with him rises weeping ; these are flowers 
Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given 
To men of middle age : ye 're very welcome. 

Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your 
flock, 
And only live by gazing. 

Per. Out, alas ! 

You 'd be so lean, that blasts of January 
Would blow you through and through. — Now, my 

fair'st friend, 
I would I had some flowers o' the spring, that 

might 
Become your time of day ; and yours, and yours, 
That wear upon your virgin branches yet 
Your maidenheads growing: — O, Proserpina,(7) 
For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou lett'st 

fall 
From Dis's waggon ! daffodils, 
That come before the swallow dares, and take 



a — gillyvors, — ] An ancient and popular form of " gilly- 
flowers." 

b The marigold, — ] The sun-flower. "Some calle it, Sponsus 
Solis, the Spowse of the Sunne, because it sleepes and is awakened 
with him." — Luptou's Book of Notable Things. 

c And the true blood which peeps fairly through it, — ] Mr. 
Collier's anuotator, as "necessary to the measure," proposes, — 



The winds of March with beauty ; violets, dim, 
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, 
Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses, 
That die unmarried, ere they can behold 
Bright Phoebus in his strength, — a malady 
Most incident to maids ; — bold oxlips, and 
The crown-imperial ; lilies of all kinds, 
The flower-de-luce being one ! O, these I lack, 
To make you garlands of; and, my sweet friend, 
To strew him o'er and o'er ! 

Flo. What ! like a corse ? 

Per. No, like a bank for love to lie and play 
on; 
Not like a corse ; or if, — not to be buried, 
But quick, and in mine arms. — Come, take your 

flowers : 
Methinks I play as I have seen them do 
In Whitsun pastorals : sure, this robe of mine 
Does change my disposition. 

Flo. What you do 

Still betters what is done. When you speak, 

sweet, 
I 'd have you do it ever : when you sing, 
I 'd have you buy and sell so ; so give alms 
Pray so ; and for the ordering your affairs, 
To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish 

you 
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do 
Nothing but that ; move still, still so, 
And own no other function : each your doing, 
So singular in each particular, 
Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, 
That all your acts are queens. 

Per. 0, Doricles ! 

Your praises are too large : but that your youth, 
And the true blood which peeps fairly through 

it, c 
Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd, 
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, 
You woo'd me the false Way. 

Flo. I think you have 

As little skill d to fear as I have purpose 
To put you to 't. — But, come ; our dance, I pray : 
Your hand, my Perdita : so turtles pair, 
That never mean to part. 

Per. I '11 swear for 'em. 

Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass that 
ever 
Ran on the green-sward : nothing she does or 

seems, 
But smacks of something greater than herself; 
Too noble for this place. 

Cam. He tells her something 

" which peeps so fairly," &c. But the rhythm does not require 
the addition; we need only make a slight transposition, and 
read,— 

" And the true blood which through it fairly peeps." 

A As little skill — ] As little reason, &c 

231 



ACT IV.J 



WINTER'S TALK 



[.SCENE III. 



That makes her blood look out : a good sooth, she is 
The queen of curds and cream. 

Glo. Come on, strike up ! 

Dob. Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, 
garlic, 
To mend her kissing with. 

Mop. Now, in good time ! 

Clo. Not a word, a word ; we stand upon our 
manners. — 
Come, strike up ! [Music. 

Here a Dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses. 

Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is 
this 
Which dances with your daughter ? 

Shep. They call him Doricles ; and boasts 
himself 
To have a worthy feeding : but I have it 
Upon his own report, and I believe it ; 
He looks like sooth. He says, he loves my 

daughter ; 
I think so too ; for never gaz'd the moon 
Upon the water, as he '11 stand, and read, 
As 'twere, my daughter's eyes : and, to be plain, 
I think there is not half a kiss to choose 
Who loves another best. 

Pol. She dances featly. 

Shep. So she does anything ; though I report it, 
That should be silent : if young Doricles 
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that 
Which he not dreams of. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. O master, if you did but hear the pedler 
at the door, you would never dance again after a 
tabor and pipe ; no, the bagpipe could not move 
you : he sings several tunes faster than you '11 tell 
money : he utters them as he had eaten ballads, 
and all men's ears grew to his tunes. 

Clo. He could never come better : he shall 
come in : I love a ballad but even too well, if it be 
doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant 
thing indeed, and sung lamentably. 

Serv. He hath songs for man or woman, of all 
sizes ; no milliner can so fit his customers with 
gloves : he has the prettiest love-songs for maids ; 
so without bawdry, which is strange ; with such 



a That makes her blood look out :] Theobald's correction ; the 
old text having, — " look on H." The misprint was not uncommon : 
thus, in " Cymbeline," Act II. Sc. 3, — 

" Must wear the print of his remembrance out," 

and in " Twelfth Night," Act III. Sc. 4,— 

" And laid mine honour too unchary out," 

where, in both instances, the old editions have " on 't." 

b — a/owJgap — ] Mr. Collier's annotator would- read, — afoul 
jape, that is, a broad jest ; but a " foul g*p " means a gross paren- 

232 



delicate burdens of dildos and fadings : jump her 
and thump her; and where some stretch-mouth'd 
rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break 
a foul gap b into the matter, he makes the maid to 
answer, Whoop, do me no harm, good man; puts 
him off, slights him, with Whoop, do me no harm, 
good man. 

Pol. This is a brave fellow. 

Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable- 
conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided c wares ? 

Serv. He hath ribands of all the colours i' the 
rainbow ; points, 4 more than all the lawyers in Bo- 
hemia can learnedly handle, though they come to 
him by the gross ; inkles, caddisses, e cambrics, 
lawns ; why, he sings 'em over, as they were 
gods or goddesses ; you would think, a smock were 
a she-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand, and 
the work about the square f on 't. 

Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in ; and let him ap- 
proach singing. 

Per. Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous 
words in 's tunes. [Exit Servant. 

Clo. You have of these pedlers, that have more 
in them than you 'd think, sister. 

Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. 

Enter Autolycus, singing. 

Lawn as white as driven snow ; 

Cyprus black as e'er was crow ; 

Gloves as sweet as damask roses ; 

Masks for faces and for noses ; 

Bugle-bracelet, necklace- amber, 

Perfume for a lady's chamber ; 

Golden quoifs and stomachers, 

For my lads to give their dears ; 

Pins and poking-sticks of steel ;(8) 

What maids lack from head to heel : 
Come, buy of me, come ; come buy, come buy ; 
Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry : come, buy. 

Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou 
shouldst take no money of me ; but being en- 
thralled as I am, it will also be the bondage of 
certain ribands and gloves. 

Mop. I was promised them against the feast ; 
but they come not too late now. 

Dor. He hath promised you more than that, or 
there be liars. 



thesis. See Puttenham's "Arte of Poesy," Lib. III. c. xii., under 
Parenthesis, or the Insertour. 

c — unbraided wares ?] That is, unspoiled, unfaded, sterling 
goods. 

d — points, — ] A quibble on " points," the laces with metal tags 
by which the dress was fastened up, and themes for argument. 

e — inkles, caddisses, — ] Inkle is a kind of tape ; and caddis a 
narrow worsted galloon. 

f — the square on 't.'\ The " square " appears to bave signified 
the bosom part of the chemise, which, as we see in old pictures 
and engravings, was frequently ornamented with embroidery. 









• - , 

-7 /.■/.'. 



/-I /) 



s "/ < 




Mop. He hath paid you all he promised you : 
may be, he has paid you more ; — which will shame 
you to give him again. 

Clo. Is there no manners left among maids? 
wll they wear their plackets where they should 



a Clamour your tongues, — ] Some will have this to be a cor- 

iption of chamour or chaumbre, from the French chanter, to 

i "frain : others suspect it to be only a misprint for charm ; but 

*iom the following line in Taylor, the Water Poet, first cited by 



bear their faces ? Is there not milking-time, when 
you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle off 
these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before 
all our guests? 'Tis well they are whispering 
Clamour a your tongues, and not a word more. 



Mr. Hunter, — 

" Clamour the promulgation of your tongues." 
it would seem to have been a familiar phrase. 

233 



ACT IV.] 



WINTER'S TALE. 



[scene ii r. 



Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me a 
tawdry lace a and a pair of sweet gloves. 

Clo. Have I not told thee how I was cozened 
by the way, and lost all my money ? 

Aut. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners 
abroad ; therefore it behoves men to be wary. 

Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose 
nothing here. 

Aut. I hope so, sir ; for I have about me many 
parcels of charge. 

Clo. What hast here ? ballads? 

Mop. Pray now, buy some : I love a ballad 
in print a' -life ; for then we are sure they are true. 

Aut. Here's one to a very doleful tune, How a 
usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money- 
bags at a burden ; and how she longed to eat 
adders' heads, and toads carbonadoed. 

Mop. Is it true, think you ? 

Aut. Very true ; and but a month old. 

Dob. Bless me from marrying a usurer ! 

Aut. Here's the midwife's name to't, one mis- 
tress Taleporter ; and five or six honest wives' that 
were present. Why should I carry lies abroad ? 

Mop. Pray you now, buy it. 

Clo. Come on, lay it by: and let's first see 
more ballads ; we '11 buy the other things anon. 

Aut. Here 's another ballad, Of a fish, that ap- 
peared upon the coast onWednesday the fourscore of 
April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung 
this ballad against the hard hearts of maids : ( 9 ) it 
was thought she was a woman, and was turned into 
a cold fish for she would not exchange flesh with one 
that loved her: the ballad is very pitiful, and as true. 

Dor. Is it true too, think you ? 

Aut. Five justices' hands at it, and witnesses 
more than my pack will hold. 

Clo. Lay it by too : another. 

Aut. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty 
one. 

Mop. Let 's have some merry ones. 

Aut. Why, this is a passing 15 merry one, and 
goes to the tune of ' Two maids wooing a man : ' 
there 's scarce a maid westward but she sings it ; 
't is in request, I can tell you. 

Mop. We can both sing it ; if thou 'It bear a 
part, thou shalt hear ; 't is in three parts. 

Dor. We had the tune on 't a month ago. 

Aut. I can bear my part; you must know, 'tis 
my occupation : have at it with you. 

Song. 

A. Get you hence, for I must go ; 
Where it jits not you to know. 



a — a tawdry lace — ] A sort of ornament worn by women round 
the neck or waist, and so called, it is said, after St. Audrey 
(Etheldreda). 

b — a passing merry one, — ] As we should now call it, a sur- 
passingly merry one, an exceeding merry one. 

234 



D. Whither? 

M. 0, whither ? 

D. Whither ? 

M. It becomes thy oath full well, 

Thou to me thy secrets tell : 
D. Me too, let me go thither. 
M. Or thou go'st to the grange, or mill : 
D. If to either, thou dost ill. 
A. Neither. 

D. What, neither ? 

A. Neither. 

D. Thou hast sworn my love to be ; 
M. Thou hast sivorn it more to me : 

Then whither go'st ? say, whither ? 

Clo. We '11 have this song out anon by our- 
selves : my father and the gentlemen are in sr d c 
talk, and we'll not trouble them. — Come, bring 
away thy pack after me. — Wenches, I '11 buy for 
you both. — Pedler, let 's have the first choice. — 
Follow me, girls. 

[Exit with Mops a and Dorcas. 
Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em. 

[Singing. 
Will you buy any tape, 
Or lace for your cape, 
My dainty duck, my dear-a ? 
Any silk, any thread, 
Any toys for your head, 
Of the newest and fin'st, finst wear-a ? 
Come to the pedler ; 
Money 's a meddler, 
That doth utter all mens ware-a. [Exit. 

Re-enter Servant. 

Sery. Master, there is three carters, three 
shepherds, three neatherds, three swineherds, that 
have made themselves all men of hair; (10) they call 
themselves Saltiers : d and they have a dance which 
the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, 
because they are not in 't ; but they themselves are 
o' the mind, (if it be not too rough for some that 
know little but bowling) it will please plentifully. 

Shep. Away ! we '11 none on 't ; here has been 
too much homely foolery already. — I know, sir, we 
weary you. 

Pol. You weary those that refresh us : pray, 
let 's see these four threes of herdsmen. 

Serv. One three of them, by their own report, 
sir, hath danced before the king ; and not the 
worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half 
by the squire. 6 

Shep. Leave your prating : since these good 

c — sad — ] For grave, serious. 
d — Saltiers :] The rustic's blander for Satyrs. 
e — the squire.] The foot-rule: French, esquierre. See note 
(b), p. 92, Vol. I. 



ACT IV.] 



WINTER'S TALE. 



LoOi!iISJ2 111-. 



men are pleased, let them come in ; but quickly 



now. 



Sebv. Why, they stay at door, sir. {Exit. 



Re-enter Servant, with twelve Rustics, habited 
like Satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt. 

Pol. O, father, you'll know more of that here- 
after. — a 
Is it not too far gone ? — 'Tis time to part them. 
[Aside.~] He 's simple and tells much. — How now, 

fair shepherd ? 
Your heart is full of something that does take 
Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was 

young, 
And handed love as you do, I was wont 
To load my she with knacks : I would have ran- 
sacked 
The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it 
To her acceptance ; you have let him go, 
And nothing marted with him. If your lass 
Interpretation should abuse, and call this 
Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited 
For a reply, at least, if you make a care 
Of happy holding her. 

Flo. Old sir, I know 

She prizes not such trifles as these are : 
The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd 
Up in my heart ; which I have given already, 
But not deliver'd. — O, hear me breathe my life 
Before tins ancient sir, who, it should seem, 
Hath sometime lov'd ! I take thy hand, — this 

hand, 
As soft as dove's down, and as white as it, 
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow, 
That 's bolted b by the northern blasts twice o'er. 

Pol. What follows this ? — 
How prettily the } r oung swain seems to wash 
The hand was fair before ! — I have put you out : — 
But to your protestation ; let me hear 
WTiat you profess. 

Flo. Do, and be witness to 't. 

Pol. And this my neighbour too ? 

Flo. And he, and more 

Than he, and men, — the earth, the heavens, and 

all:— 
That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, 
Thereof most worthy ; were I the fairest youth 
That ever made eye swerve ; had force and know- 
ledge [them, 
More than was ever man's, — I would not prize 



a O, father, you 11 knew more of that hereafter.—] This we 
must suppose to be a continuation of some discourse begun be- 
tween Polixenes and the old Shepherd while the dance proceeded. 

b — bolted—] Sifted. 

c more than you can dream of yet; 

Enough then for your wonder.] 
We have shown before, in several instances, that "yet" was fre- 



Without her love ; for her, employ them all ; 
Commend them, and condemn them, to her service, 
Or to their own perdition ! 

Pol. Fairly offer'd. 

Cam. This shows a sound affection. 

Shep. But, my daughter, 

Say you the like to him ? 

Per. I cannot speak 

So well, nothing so well ; no, nor mean better : 
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out 
The purity of his. 

Shep. Take hands, a bargain ! — 

And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to 't : 
I give my daughter to him, and will make 
Her portion equal his. 

Flo. O, that must be 

I' the virtue of your daughter : one being dead, 
I shall have more than you can dream of yet ; c 
Enough then for your wonder. But, come on, 
Contract us 'fore these witnesses. 

Shep. Come, your hand ; — 

And, daughter, yours. 

Pol. Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you ; 

Have you a father ? 

Flo. I have : but what of him? 

Pol. Knows he of this ? 

Flo. He neither does nor shall. 

Pol. Methinks a father 
Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest 
That best becomes the table. Pray you, once 

more ; 
Is not your father grown incapable 
Of reasonable affairs ? is he not stupid 
With age and altering rheums ? can he speak ? 

hear? 
Know man from man ? dispute his own estate ? a 
Lies he not bed-rid ? and again does nothing 
But what he did, being childish ? 

Flo. No, good sir ; 

He has his health, and ampler strength indeed 
Than most have of his age. 

Pol. By my white beard, 

You offer him, if this be so, a wrong 
Something unfilial : reason, my son 
Should choose himself a wife ; but as good reason, 
The father (all whose joy is nothing else 
But fair posterity) should hold some counsel 
In such a business. 

Flo. I yield all this ; 

But, for some other reasons, my grave sir, 
Which 't is not fit you know, I not acquaint 
My father of this business. 



quently used in the sense of now. In the present passage that 
meaning is indispensable to the antithesis. 

d — dispute his own estate?] That is, reason upon bis affairs 
or condition. The phrase is found again in " Romeo and Juliet," 
Act III. Sc. 3,— 

" Let me dispute with thee of thy estate." 

235 



ACT IV.] 



WINTER'S TALE. 



Let him know 't. 



Pol. 

Flo. He shall not. 

Pol. Pr'ythee, let him. 

Flo. No, he must not. 

Shep. Let him, my son ; he shall not need to 
grieve 
At knowing of thy choice. 

Flo. Come, come, he must not : — 

Mark our contract. 

Pol. Mark your divorce, young sir, 

[Discovering himself. 
Whom son I dare not call ; thou art too base 
To be acknowledg'd : thou a sceptre's heir, 
That thus affect'st a sheep-hook ! — Thou old 

traitor, 
I am sorry, that, by hanging thee, I can 
But shorten thy life one week. — Ajid thou, fresh 

piece 
Of excellent witchcraft, who, of force, must know 
The royal fool thou cop'st with ; — 

Shep. 0, my heart ! 

Pol. I '11 have thy beauty scratch'd with briers, 
and made 
More homely than thy state. — For thee, fond boy, 
If I may ever know thou dost but sigh 
That thou no more shalt never see this knack, (as 

never a 
I mean thou shalt) we '11 bar thee from succession ; 
Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, 
Far than Deucalion off ; — mark thou my words ; — 
Follow us to the court. — Thou churl, for this time, 
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee 
From the dead blow of it. — And you, enchantment, 
Worthy enough a herdsman ; yea, him too, 
That makes himself, but for our honour therein, 
Unworthy thee, — if ever henceforth thou 
These rural latches to his entrance open, 
Or hoop* his body more with thy embraces, 
I will devise a death as cruel for thee 
As thou art tender to 't. [Exit. 

Per. Even here undone ! b 

I was not much afeard : for once or twice 
I was about to speak, and tell him plainly, 
The self-same sun that shines upon his court 
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but 
Looks on alike. — Will 't please you, sir, be gone ? 

[To Florizel. 
I told you what would come of this : beseech you, 
Of your own state take care : this dream of mine, 
Being now awake, I '11 queen it no inch farther, 
But milk my ewes, and weep. 



(*) Old text, hope. 

» That thou no more shalt never see this knack, (as never 
I mean thou shalt) — ] 

The first " never" appears to have crept in by the inadvertence of 
the compositor, whose eye caught it from the end of the line. 

b Even here undone!] This is the accepted punctuation, and it 
ou^ht not to be lightly tampered with ; yet some readers may 
possibly think with us that the passage would be more in harmony 

23£ 



TSCENE II! 

Why, how now, fathei I 



Cam. 
Speak, ere thou diest. 

Shep. I cannot speak, nor think, 

Nor dare to know that which I know. — O, sir, 

[To Florizel. 
You have undone a man of fourscore three, 
That thought to fill his grave in quiet, — yea, 
To die upon the bed my father died, 
To lie close by his honest bones ! but now 
Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me 
Where no priest shovels in dust. — O cursed wretch ! 

[To Perdita. 
That knew'st this was the prince, and wouidst 

adventure 
To mingle faith with him ! — Undone ! undone ! 
If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd 
To die when I desire. [Exit. 

Flo. Why look you so upon me V 

I am but sorry, not afeard ; delay'd, 
But nothing alter'd : what I was, I am ; 
More straining on for plucking back ; not following 
My leash unwillingly. 

Cam. Gracious my lord, 

You know your * father's temper : at this time 
He will allow no speech, — which I do guess 
You do not purpose to him ; — and as hardly 
Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear : 
Then, till the fury of his highness settle, 
Come not before him. 

Flo. I not purpose it. 

I think, Camillo ? 

Cam. Even he, my lord. 

Per. How often have I told you 'twould be 
thus ! 
How often said, my dignity would last 
But till 't were known ! 

Flo. It cannot fail, but by 

The violation of my faith ; and then 
Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together, 
Ajid mar the seeds within ! Lift up thy looks : — 
From my succession wipe me, father ! I 
Am heir to my affection. 

Cam. Be advis'd. 

Flo. I am, — and by my fancy : c if my reason 
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason ; 
If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness, 
Do bid it welcome. 

Cam. This is desperate, sir. 

Flo. So call it : but it does fulfil my vow, d 
I needs must think it honesty. Camillo. 
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may 



(*) First folio, my. 

with the high-born spirit by which Perdita is unconsciously sus 
tained in this terrible moment, if it were read, — 
Even here undone, 
I was not much afeard; for once or twice," &c. 
c — by my fancy :] That is, by my love. 

d — but it does fulfil my vow, — ] As, is understood,— ■•' bur a, i? 
does fulfil my vow, I needs- must think it honesty." 



A.CT IV.] 



WINTER'S TALE. 



[scene rn. 



Be thereat glean'd ; for all the sun sees, or 

The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide 

In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath 

To this my fair belov'd : therefore, I pray you, 

As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend, 

When he shall miss me, (as, in faith, I mean not 

To see him any more) cast your good counsels 

Upon his passion. Let myself and fortune 

Tug for the time to come. This you may know, 

And so deliver, — I am put to sea 

With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore ; 

And, most opportune to our a need, I have 

A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd 

For this design. What course I mean to hold 

Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor 

Concern me the reporting. 

Cam. O, my lord, 

I would your spirit were easier for advice, 
Or stronger for your need ! 

Flo. Hark, Perdita. — 

[Takes her aside. 
I '11 hear you by and by. [To Camillo. 

Cam. He's irremoveable b 

Resolv'd for flight. Now were I happy, if 
His going I could frame to serve my turn ; 
Save him from danger, do him love and honour ; 
Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia, 
And that unhappy king, my master, whom 
I so much thirst to see. 

Flo. Now, good Camillo, 

I am so fraught with curious business, that 
I leave out ceremony. [Going. 

Cam. Sir, I think, 

You have heard of my poor services, i' the love 
That I have borne your father ? 

Flo. Very nobly 

Have yea deserv'd : it is my father's music, 
To speak your deeds ; not little of his care 
To have them recompens'd as thought on. 

Cam. Well, my lord, 

If you may please to think I love the king, 
And, through him, what's nearest to him, which is 
Your gracious self, embrace but my direction, 
(If your more ponderous and settled project 
May suffer alteration) on mine honour 
I '11 point you where you shall have such receiving 
As shall become your highness ; where you may 
Enjoy your mistress ; (from the whom, I see, 
There 's no disjunction to be made, but by, 
As heavens forfend ! your ruin) marry her ; 
And (with my best endeavours in your absence) 
Your discontenting father strive to qualify, 
And bring him up to liking. 



a — to our need,—} Theobald's correction, the old copies read- 
ing, "her need." 
b He '8 uremeveable 

Resolv'd for flighi.\ 



Flo. How, Camillo, 

May this, almost a miracle, be done ? 
That I may call thee something more than man, 
And, after that, trust to thee. 

Cam. Have you thought on 

A place, whereto you '11 go ? 

Flo. Not any yet : 

But as the unthought-on accident is guilty 
To what we wildly do, so we profess 
Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies 
Of every wind that blows. 

Cam. Then list to me : 

This follows, — if you will not change your purpose, 
But undergo this flight, — make for Sicilia ; 
And there present yourself and your fair princess,. 
(For so I see she must be) 'fore Leontes ; 
She shall be habited as it becomes 
The partner of your bed. Methinks, I see 
Leontes opening his free arms, and weeping 
His welcomes forth; asks thee, the* son, for- 
giveness, 
As 't were i' the father's person ; kisses the hands 
Of your fresh princess ; o'er and o'er divides him 
'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness, — the one 
He chides to hell, and bids the other grow 
Faster than thought or time. 

Flo. Worthy Camillo, 

What colour for my visitation shall I 
Hold up before him ? 

Cam. Sent by the king your father 

To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir, 
The manner of your bearing towards him, with 
What you, as from your father, shall deliver, 
Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down : 
The which shall point you forth at every sitting 
What you must say ; that he shall not perceive, 
But that you have your father's bosom there, 
And speak his very heart. 

Flo. I am bound to you : 

There is some sap in this. 

Cam. A course more promising 

Than a wild dedication of yourselves 
To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores ; most 

certain, 
To miseries enough : no hope to belp you ; 
But, as you shake off one, to take another : 
Nothing so certain as your anchors ; who 
Do their best office, if they can but stay you 
Where you'll be loth to be: besides, you know, 
Prosperity's the very bond of love, 
Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together 
Affliction alters. 

Per. One of these is true : 



(*) Old text, there. 

" Irremoveable " is here employed adverbially; "He's irre- 
moveably resolved," fee. So in Act III. Sc. 2, — " And damnable 
ungrateful." 

237 



ACT IV.] 



WINTER'S TALE. 



[SCENE III. 



I think affliction may subdue the cheek, 
But not take in the mind. 

Cam. Yea, say you so ? 

There shall not, at your father's house, these seven 

years, 
Be born another such. 

Flo. My good Camillo, 

She is as forward of her breeding as 
She is i' the rear of our birth.* 

Cam. I cannot say, 'tis pity 

She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress 
To most. that teach. 

Per. Your pardon, sir ; for this 

I '11 blush } 7 ou thanks. 

Flo. My prettiest Perdita ! — 

But, O, the thorns we stand upon ! — Camillo, — 
Preserver of my father, now of me, 
The medicine of our house ! — how shall we do ?'• 
We are not furnish' d like Bohemia's son ; 
Nor shall appear in Sicilia. b 

Cam. My lord, 

Fear none of this : I think you know my fortunes 
Do all lie there : it shall be so my care 
To have you royally appointed, as if 
The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir, 
That you may know you shall not want, — one 
word. [They talk aside. 



Enter Autolycus. 

Aut. Ha, ha ! what a fool Honesty is ! and 
Trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman ! 
I have sold all my trumpery ; not a counterfeit 
stone, not a riband, glass, pomander, brooch, 
table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, 
bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting; 
they throng who should buy first, as if my trinkets 
had been hallowed, and brought a benediction to 
the buyer : by which means I saw whose purse 
was best in picture ; and what I saw, to my good 
use I remembered. My clown (who wants but 
something to be a reasonable man) grew so in love 
with the wenches' song, that he would not stir his 
pettitoes till he had both tune and words ; which 
so drew the rest of the herd to me, that all their 
other senses stuck in ears : you might have pinched 
a placket, it was senseless ; 't was nothing to geld 
a cod-piece of a purse ; I would have filed keys 
off that hung in chains : no hearing, no feeling, 
but my sir's song, and admiring the nothing d of 
it. So that, in this time of lethargy, I picked and 

a — i' the rear of our birth.] The original has, — "i' th'reare' 
our Birth." 

b Nor shall appear in Sicilia.] It is usual to print this with a 
break after " Sicilia ; " the proper remedy, we believe, is to insert 
"so," which appears to have dropped out at press, — "Nor shall 
appear so in Sicilia." 

' — pomander, — ] A pomander was a ball of perfumes, ' Pomme 
d'ambre," carried in the pocket, worn round the neck, or suspended 

238 



cut most of their festival purses ; and had not the 
old man come in with a whoobub against his 
daughter and the king's son, and scared my 
choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive 
in the whole army. 

[Cam. Flo. and Per. come forward. 
Cam. Nay, but my letters, by this means being 
there 
So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. 
Flo. And those that you'll procure from king 

Leontes — 
Cam. Shall satisfy your father. 
Per. Happy be you ! 

All that you speak shows fair. 

Cam. Who have we here ? — 

\_Seeing Autolycus. 
We '11 make an instrument of this ; omit 
Nothing may give us aid. 

Aut. [Aside. ,] If they have overheard me now, 

why, hanging. 

Cam. How now, good fellow ! why shakest thou 
so ? Fear not, man ; here 's no harm intended to 
thee. 

Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. 
Cam. Why, be so still ; here 's nobody will steal 
that from thee : yet, for the outside of thy poverty, 
we must make an exchange ; therefore, disease 
thee instantly, (thou must think there's a necessity 
in 't) and change garments with this gentleman : 
though the pennyworth on his side be the worst, 
yet hold thee, there 's some boot. [Giving money. 
Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. — [Aside J\ I know 
ye well enough. 

Cam. Nay, pr'ythee, dispatch : the gentleman 
is half flayed already. 

Aut. Are you in earnest, sir ? — [Aside. ~] I smell 
the trick on 't. 

Flo. Dispatch, I pr'ythee. 
Aut. Indeed, I have had earnest ; but I cannot 
with conscience take it. 

Cam. Unbuckle, unbuckle. — 

[Flo. and Autol. exchange garments. 
Fortunate mistress, — let my prophecy 
Come home to ye ! — you must retire yourself 
Into some covert : take your sweetheart's hat 
And pluck it o'er your brows ; muffle your face ; 
Dismantle you ; and, as you can, disliken 
The truth of your own seeming ; that you may 
(For I do fear eyes over e ) to shipboard 
Get undescried. 

Per. I see the play so lies 

That I must bear a part. 



from the wrist. 

d —the nothing of it.] It has been suggested that " nothing " 
in this place is a misprint for noting; but like moth for mute, it is 
only the old mode of spelling that word. 

e (For I do fear eyes over)] Rowe reads,— "eyes over you; " a 
MS. note in Lord Ellesmere's copy of the first folio has, "eyes 
ever; " and Mr. Collier's annotator proposes the same alteration. 



ACT IV.] 



WINTER'S TALE. 



[scene III. 



Cam. No remedy. — 

Have you done there ? 

Flo. Should I now meet my father, 

He would not call me son. 

Cam. Nay? you shall have no hat. — 

Come, lady, come. — Farewell, my friend. 

Aut. Adieu, sir. 

Flo. 0, Perdita, what have we twain forgot ! 
Pray you, a word. [They converse apart. 

Cam. [Aside. ~] What I do next, shall be to tell 
the king 
Of this escape, and whither they are bound ; 
Wherein, my hope is, I shall so prevail 
To force him after ; in whose company 
I shall re-view Sicilia, for whose sight 
I have a woman's longing. 

Flo. Fortune speed us ! — 

Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side. 

Cam. The swifter speed the better. 

[Exeunt Flo. Per. and Cam. 

Aut. I understand the business, I hear it : to 
have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, 
is necessary for a cutpurse ; a good nose is requisite 
also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see 
this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. 
What an exchange had this been without boot ! 
what a boot is here with this exchange S Sure, the 
gods do this year connive at us, and we may do 
anything extempore. The prince himself is about 
a piece of iniquity ; stealing away from his father 
with his clog at his heels : if I thought it were a 
piece of honesty to acquaint the king withal, I 
would not do 't : I hold it the more knavery to 
conceal it; and therein am I constant to my 
profession. — Aside, aside ! — here is more matter 
for a hot brain : every lane's, end, every shop, 
church, session, hanging, yields a careful man 
work. 

Enter Clown and Shepherd. 

Clo. See, see ; what a man you are now ! 
There is no other way but to tell the king she 's a 
changeling, and none of your flesh and blood. 

Shep. Nay, but hear me. 

Clo. Nay, but hear me. 

Shep. Go to, then. 

Clo. She being none of your flesh and blood, 
your flesh and blood has not offended the king ; 
and so your flesh and blood is not to be punished 
by him. Show those things you found about her ; 
those secret things, all but what she has with her : 
this being done, let the law go whistle ; I warrant 
you. 



a — fardel — ] A bundle, pack, or burden. 

b — excrement.] He means beard. We have a similar appli- 
cation of the word in " Love : s Labour's Lost," Act V. Sc. 1, — 



Shep. I will tell the king all, every word ; yea, 
and his son's pranks too, — who, I may say, is no 
honest man neither to his father nor to me, to go 
about to make me the king's brother-in-law. 

Clo. Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest 
off you could have been to him ; and then your 
blood had been the dearer by I know how much an 
ounce. 

Alt. [Aside.'] Very wisely, puppies ! 

Shep. Well, let us to the king ; there is that 
in this fardel a will make him scratch his beard. 

Aut. I know not what impediment this com- 
plaint may be to the flight of my master. 

Clo. Pray heartily he be at palace. 

Aut. Though I am not naturally honest, I am 
so sometimes by chance : — let me pocket up my 
pedler's excrement. b — [Aside. Taking off his false 
beard.] How now, rustics ! whither are you 
bound ? 

Shep. To the palace, an it like your worship. 

Aut. Your affairs there ? what ? with whom ? 
the condition of that fardel, the place of your 
dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having, 
breeding, and anything that is fitting to be known, 
discover. 

Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir. 

Aut. A lie ; you are rough and hairy. Let me 
have no lying ; it becomes none but tradesmen, 
and they often give us soldiers the lie : but we 
pay them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing 
steel ; therefore they do not give us the lie. 

Clo. Your worship had like to have given us 
one, if you had not taken yourself with the 
manner. 

Shep. Are you a courtier, an 't like you, sir ? 

Aut. Whether it like me or no, I am a cour- 
tier. See'st thou not the air of the court in these 
enfoldings ? hath not my gait in it the measure of 
the court ? receives not thy nose court-odour from 
me ? reflect I not on thy baseness court-contempt ? 
Thinkest thou, for that I insinuate, or* toze from 
thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier ? I 
am courtier cap-a-pe ; and one that will either 
push on or pluck back thy business there : where- 
upon I command thee to open thy affair. 

Shep. My business, sir, is to the king. 

Aut. What advocate hast thou to him ? 

Shep. I know not, an 't like you. 

Clo. [Aside to the Shepherd.] Advocate 's the 
court-word for a pheasant ; say, you have none. 

Shep. None, sir ; I have no pheasant, cock 
nor hen. 

Aut. How bless'd are we that are not simple 
men ! 



(*) Old text, at. 

" and with his royal finger, thus, dally with my excrement, witb 
my mustachio." 

239 




Yet nature might have made me as these are, 
Therefore I 'II not disdain. 

Olo. This cannot be but a great courtier. 

Sedep. His garments are rich, but he wears 
them not handsomely. 

Clo. He seems to be the more noble in being 
fantastical : a great man, I '11 warrant ; I know 
by the picking on's teeth. 

Aur. The fardel there? wha+'s i' the fardel? 
Wherefore that box ? 
240 



Shep. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel 
and box, which none must know but the king ; 
and which he shall know within this hour, if I may 
come to the speech of him. 

Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. 

Shep. Why, sir? 

Aut. The king is not at the palace : he is gone 
aboard a new ship to purge melancholy and air 
himself : for if thou be'st capable of things serious , 
thou must know the king is full of grief. 



ACT IT.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



that 



Shep. So 'tis said, sir, — about his son, 
should have married a shepherd's daughter. 

Aut. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, a let 
him fly ; the curses he shall have, the tortures he 
shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart 
of monster. 

Glo. Think you so, sir ? 

Aut. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can 
make heavy, and vengeance bitter ; but those that 
are germane to him, though removed fifty times, 
shall all come under the hangman : which though 
it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An old 
sheep -whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to 
have his daughter come into grace ! Some say, 
he shall be stoned ; but that death is too soft for 
him, say I : draw our throne into a sheep-cote ! 
all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy. 

Clo. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you 
hear, an 't like you, sir ? 

Aut. He has a son, — who shall be flayed alive ; 
then, 'nointed over with honey, set on the head of 
a wasp's nest ; then stand till he be three quarters 
and a dram dead ; then recovered again with aqua- 
vitae, or some other hot infusion ; then, raw as he 
is, and in the hottest day prognostication 1 * proclaims, 
shall be set against a brick wall, the sun looking 
with a southward eye upon him, — where he is to 
behold him with flies blown to death. But what 
talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries 
are to be smiled at, their offences being so capital ? 
Tell me (for you seem to be honest plain men) 
what you have to the king : being something 
gently considered, I'll bring you where he is 
aboard, tender your persons to his presence, 
whisper him in your behalfs ; and, if it be in man, 
besides the king, to effect your suits, here is man 
shall do it. 

Clo. He seems to be of great authority : close 
with him, give him gold ; and though authority be 
a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with 
gold : show the inside of your purse to the outside 



» If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him flyf\ The only 
critic who has noticed the term "hand-fast " is Mr. R. G. White ; 
and he quite mistakes its meaning. To be in " hand-fast "=»mk»- 
prize, is to he at large only on security given. 



[SCENE III. 

ado. Remember, — 



of his hand, and no more 
stoned, and flayed alive ! 

Shep. An 't please you, sir, to undertake the 
business for us, here is that gold I have : I '11 
make it as much more, and leave this young man 
in pawn till I bring it you. 

Aut. After I have done what I promised ? 

Shep. Ay, sir. 

Aut. Well, give me the moiety. — Are you a 
party in this business ? 

Clo. In some sort, sir : but though my case be 
a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it. 

Aut. O, that 's the case of the shepherd's son ; 
— hang him, he '11 be made an example. 

Clo. Comfort, good comfort ! We must to the 
king, and show our strange sights : he must know 
't is none of your daughter nor my sister ; we are 
gone else. — Sir, I will give you as much as this 
old man does, when the business is performed ; and 
remain, as he says, your pawn till it be brought 
you. 

Aut. I will trust you. Walk before toward the 
sea-side ; go on the right hand ; I will but look 
upon the hedge, and follow you. 

Clo. We are blessed in this man, as I may 
say, even blessed. 

Shep. Let 's before, as he bids us : he was pro- 
vided to do us good. [Exeunt Shepherd and Clown. 

Aut. If I had a mind to be honest, I see For- 
tune would not suffer me ; she drops booties in my 
mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion, 
— gold, and a means to do the prince my master 
good ; which who knows how that may turn back 
to my advancement ? I will bring these two 
moles, these blind ones, aboard him : if he think 
it fit to shore them again, and that the complaint 
they have to the king concerns him nothing, let 
him call me rogue for being so far officious ; for I 
am proof against that title, and what shame else 
belongs to 't. To him will I present them ; there 
may be matter in it. [Exit. 



t» — prognostication proclaims, — ] The hottest day predicted by 
the almanac. " Almanacks were in Shakespeare's time published 
under this title, * An Almanack and Prognostication made for the 
year of our Lord God 1595.' " — Malons 




VOL. Ill- 




ACT V. 



SCENE I. — Sicilia. A Room in the Palace of Leontes. 



Enter Leontes, Cleomenes, Dion, Paulina, 
and others. 

Cleo. Sir, you have done enough, and have 
perform'd 
A saint-like sorrow : no fault could you make, 
Which you have not redeem'd ; indeed, paid down 
More penitence than done trespass : at the last, 
Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil ; . 
With them, forgive yourself. 

Leon. Whilst I remember 

Her and her virtues, I cannot forget 
My blemishes in them ; and so still think of 
The wrong I did myself : which was so much, 
That heirless it hath made my kingdom ; and 
Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er man 
Bred his hopes out of. 

Paul. True, too true, my lord : a 

If, one by one, you wedded all the world, 
Or from the all that are took something good, 



* True, too true, my lord:] A correction of Theobald; the old 
editions haying, — 

842 



To make a perfect woman, she, you kill'd, 
Would be unparallePd. 

Leon. I think so. KilVd ! 

She I kilVd ! I did so : but thou strik'st me 
Sorely, to say I did ; it is as bitter 
Upon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good 

now, 
Say so but seldom. 

Cleo. Not at all, good lady ; 

You might have spoken a thousand things that 

would 
Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd 
Your kindness better. 

Paul. You are one of those 

Would have him wed again. 

Dion. If you would not sa, 

You pity not the state, nor the remembrance 
Of his most sovereign name ; consider little 
What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue, 
May drop upon his kingdom, and devour 
Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy 



" Destroy'd the sweet'st Companion, that ere man 

Bred his hopes out of, true. 
Paul. Too true (my Lord ;) " 



ACT V.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



Than to rejoice the former queen is well ? a 
What holier than, — for royalty's repair, 
For present comfort and for future good, — 
To bless the bed of majesty again 
With a sweet fellow to 't ? 

Paul. There is none worthy, 

Respecting her that ; s gone. Besides, the gods 
Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes ; 
For has not the divine Apollo said, 
Is 't not the tenor of his oracle, 
That king Leontes shall not have an heir 
Till his lost child be found ? which that it shall, 
Is all as monstrous to our human reason, 
As my Antigonus to break his grave, 
And come again to me ; who, on my life, 
Did perish with the infant. 'T is your counsel 
My lord should to the heavens be contrary, 
Oppose against their wills. — Care not for issue ; 

\To Leontes. 
The crown will find an heir. Great Alexander 
Left his to the worthiest ; so his successor 
Was like to be the best. 

Leon. Good Paulina,— 

Who hast the memory of Hermione, 
I know, in honour, — O, that ever I 
Had squar'd me to thy counsel ! — then, even now, 
I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes ; 
Have taken treasure from her Hps, — 

Paul. And left them 

More rich for what they yielded. 

Leon. Thou speak'st truth. 

No more such wives ; therefore, no wife : one 

worse, 
And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit 
Again possess her corpse ; and on this stage 
(Where we offenders now) appear , b soul-vex'd, 
And begin, Why to me ? 

Paul. Had she such power, 

She had just cause. 

Leon. She had ; and would incense me 

To murder her I married. 

Paul. I should so : 

Were I the ghost that walk'd, I 'd bid you mark 
Her eye ; and tell me for what dull part in 't 
You chose her ; then I 'd shriek, that even your 

ears 
Should rift to hear me ; and the words that follow'd 
Should be, Remember mine ! 

Leon. Stars, stars, 



"Why there's more gold. 



a — the former queen is well ?] An expression applied to the 
dead : thus in " Antony and Cleopatra," Act II. Sc. 5, — 

" Mess. First, madam, he is well. 

Cleop. 
But, sirrah, mark, we use 
To say the dead are well," &c. 

See also Malone's note in the Variorum edition, Vol. XIV. p. 400. 

b ■ and on this stage 

(Where we offenders now) appear, &c] 

Theobald reads, — 

243 



SCENE I. 

And all eyes else dead coals ! — fear thou no wife ; 
I '11 have no wife, Paulina. 

Paul. Will you swear 

Never to marry but by my free leave ? 

Leon. Never, Paulina ; so be bless'd my spirit ! 

Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to 
his oath. 

Cleo. You tempt him over-much* 

Paul. Unless another , 

As like Hermione as is her picture, 
Affront his eye. 

Cleo. Good madam,-— 

Paul. I have done. a 

Yet, if my lord will marry, — if you will, sir, 
No remedy but you will, — -give me the office 
To choose you a queen : she shall not be so young 
As was your former ; but she shall be such 
As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take 

joy 

To see her in your arms. 

Leon. My true Paulina, 

We shall not marry till thou bidd'st us. 

Paul. That 

Shall be when your first queen 's again in breath ; 
Never till then. 



Enter a Gentleman. 

Gent. One that gives out himself prince 
Florizel, 
Son of Polixenes, with his princess, (she 
The fairest I have yet beheld) desires access 
To your high presence. 

Leon. What with him ? he comes not 

Like to his father's greatness : his approach, 
So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us 
'T is not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd 
By need and accident. What train ? 

Gent. But few, 

And those but mean. 

Leon. His princess, say you, with him ? 

Gent. Ay, the most peerless piece of earth, J 
think, 
That e'er the sun shone bright on. 

Paul. O, Hermione, 

As every present time doth boast itself 
Above a better gone, so must thy grave e 
Give way to what 's seen now. Sir, you yourself 



" and on this stage 

(Where we offend her now) appear," &c. 

c She had just cause.] The first and second folios have, — "She 
had just such cause." 

d Paul. I have done.] In the old editions, the words. " I have 
done," form part of the preceding speech; they wen» proper^ 
assigned by Capell. 

© — — so must thy grave 

Give way to whafs seen now.] 
" Grave " has been changed by some editor? to grace, by others U, 
gractt ; to the destruction of a very fine idea. 

r2 



A.CT V.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[scene I. 



p[ave said, and writ so, (but your writing now 
Is colder than that theme,) She had not been, 
Nor was not to be equalVd ; — thus jour verse 
Flow'd with her beauty once ; 't is shrewdly ebb'd, 
To say you have seen a better. 

Gent. Pardon, madam ; 

The one I have almost forgot ; (your pardon) 
The other, when she has obtain' d your eye, 
Will have your tongue too. This is a creature, 
Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal 
Of all professors else ; make proselytes 
Of who she but bid follow. 

Paul. How ! not women ? 

Gent. Women will love her, that she is a 
woman 
More worth than any man ; men, that she is 
The rarest of all women. 

Leon. Go, Cleomenes ; 

Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends, 
Bring them to our embracement. — Still 'tis 
strange, 
[Exeunt Cleomenes, Lords, and Gentleman. 
He thus should steal upon us. 

Paul. Had our prince 

(Jewel of children) seen this hour, he had pair'd 
Well with this lord ; there was not full a month 
Between their births. 

Leon. Pr'ythee, no more ; cease ; thou know'st, 
He dies to me again when talk'd of : sure, 
When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches 
Will bring me to consider that which may 
Unfurnish me of reason. — They are come. — 



Re-enter Cleomenes, with Florizel and 
Perdita. 

Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince ; 
For she did print your royal father off, 
Conceiving you : were I but twenty-one, 
Your father's image is so hit in you, 
His very air, that I should call you brother, 
As I did him ; and speak of something, wildly 
By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome ! 
And your fair princess, — goddess ! — O, alas ! 
I lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth 
Might thus have stood, begetting wonder, as 
You, gracious couple, do ! and then I lost 
(All mine own folly) the society, 
Amity too, of your brave father, whom, 
Though bearing misery, I desire my life 
Once more to look on him. 

Flo. By his command 



Have I here touch'd Sicilia ; and from Irim 
Give you all greetings, that a king, at friend, a 
Can send his brother : and, but infirmity 
(Which waits upon worn times) hath something 

seiz'd 
His wish'd ability, he had himself 
The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his 
Measur'd to look upon you ; whom he loves 
(He bade me say so) more than all the sceptres, 
And those that bear them, living. 

Leon. O, my brother, 

(Good gentleman !) the wrongs I have done thee 

stir 
Afresh within me ; and these thy offices, 
So rarely kind, are as interpreters 
Of my behind-hand slackness ! — Welcome hither, 
As is the spring to the earth. And hath he too 
Expos'd this paragon to the fearful usage, 
At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune, 
To greet a man not worth her pains, much less 
The adventure of her person ? 

Flo. Good my lord, 

She came from Libya. 

Leon. Where the warlike Smalus, 

That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and lov'd ? 

Flo. Most royal sir, from thence ; from him, 
whose daughter 
His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her : thence 
(A prosperous south- wind friendly) we have cross'd, 
To execute the charge my father gave me, 
For visiting your highness. My best train 
I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss' d ; 
Who for Bohemia bend, to signify 
Not only my success in Libya, sir, 
But my arrival, and my wife's, in safety 
Here where we are. 

Leon. The blessed gods 

Purge all infection from our air, whilst you 
Do climate here ! You have a holy father, 
A graceful gentleman ; against whose person, 
So sacred as it is, I have done sin, 
For which the heavens, taking angry note, 
Have left me issueless ; and your father 's bless'd 
(As he from heaven merits it) with you, 
Worthy his goodness. What might I have been, 
Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on, 
Such goodly things as you ! 



Enter a Lord. 

Lord. Most noble sir, 

That which I shall report will bear no credit, 
Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir, 



a — that a king, at friend, — ] This has been variously and need- 
lessly altered ; the most recent change is, — "a king as friend ; " 
but " a king at friend" means a king on terms of friendship, and 
U as much the phraseology of Shakespeare's age as "to friend," — 

244 



"I know that we shall have him well to friend," — Julius Ccesar 
Act III. Sc. 1 ; " Had I admittance and opportunity to friend,"-^ 
Cymbeline, Act I. Sc. 4. 



ACT V] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[scene II. 



Bohemia greets you from himself by me ; 
Desires you to attach his son, who has 
(His dignity and duty both cast off) 
Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with 
A shepherd's daughter. 

Leon. Where 's Bohemia ? speak ! 

Lobd. Here in your city; I now came from 
him : 
I speak amazedly ; and it becomes 
My marvel and my message. To your court 
"Whiles he was hast'ning, (in the chase, it seems, 
Of this fair couple) meets he on the way 
The father of this seeming lady, and 
Her brother, having both their country quitted 
With this young prince. 

Flo. Camillo has betray 'd me ; 

Whose honour and whose honesty, till now, 
Endur'd all weathers. 

Lord. Lay 't so to his charge ; 

He 's with the king your father. 

Leon. Who? Camillo? 

Lord. Camillo, sir ; I spake with him ; who 
now 
Has these poor men in question. Never saw I 
Wretches so quake : they kneel, they kiss the 

earth ; 
Forswear themselves as often as they speak : 
Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them 
With divers deaths in death. 

Per. O, my poor father ! — 

The heavens set spies upon us, will not have 
Our contract celebrated. 

Leon. You are married ? 

Flo. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be ; 
The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first : — 
The odds for high and low 's alike. 

Leon. My lord, 

Is this the daughter of a king ? 

Flo. She is, 

When once she is my wife. 

Leon. That once, I see, by your good father's 
speed, 
Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, 
Most sorry, you have broken from his liking, 
Where you were tied in duty ; and as sorry 
Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty, 
That you might well enjoy her. 

Flo. Dear, look up : 

Though Fortune, visible an enemy, 
Should chase us with my father, power no jot 
Hath she to change our loves. — Beseech you, sir, 
Remember since you ow'd no more to time 
Than I do now : with thought of such affections, 
Step forth mine advocate ; at your request 
My father will grant precious things as trifles. 



Leon. Would he do so, I 'd beg your precious 
mistress, 
Which he counts but a trifle. 

Paul. Sir, my liege,* 

Your eye hath too much youth in 't : not a 

month 
'Fore your queen died, she was moie worth such 

gazes 
Than what you look on now. 

Leon. I thought of her, 

Even in these looks I made. — But your petition 

[To Florizel. 
Is yet unanswer'd. I will to your father ; 
Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, 
I am friend to them and you : upon which 

errand 
I now go toward him ; therefore, follow me, 
And mark what way I make : come, good my lord. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE II.— The same. Before the Palace of 
Leontes. 

Enter Autolycus and a Gentleman. 

Aut. Beseech you, sir, were you present at this 
relation ? 

Gent. I was by at the opening of the fardel ; 
heard the old shepherd deliver the manner how 
he found it : whereupon, after a little amazedness, 
we were all commanded out of the chamber ; only 
this, methought I heard the shepherd say he found 
the child. 

Aut. I would most gladly know the issue of it. 

Gent. I make a broken delivery of the busi- 
ness ; — but the changes I perceived in the king 
and Camillo were very notes of admiration : they 
seemed almost, with staring on one another, to tear 
the cases of their eyes ; there was speech in their 
dumbness, language in their very gesture ; they 
looked as they had heard of a world ransomed, 
or one destroyed : a notable passion of wonder 
appeared in them ; but the wisest beholder, that 
knew no more but seeing, could not say if the im- 
portance 1 * were joy or sorrow, — but in the extremity 
of the one it must needs be. — Here comes a 
gentleman that happily knows more : 



» Sir, my liege,—] See note (a), p. 204. 

b — {f the importance were joy or sorrow, — ] The meaning seems 



Enter Rogero. 



The news, Rogero ? 



Rog. Nothing but bonfires : the oracle is 
fulfilled ; the king's daughter is found : such 



a 



to be, — A mere spectator could never have said whether theii 
emotion were of joyful or sorrowing significance. 

245 




deal of wonder is broken out within this hour, that 
ballad-makers cannot be able to express it. — Here 
comes the lady Paulina's steward ; he can deliver 
you more. — 

Enter Paulina's Steward. 

How goes it now, sir ? this news, which is called 
true, is so like an old tale, that the verity of it is 
in strong suspicion : has the king found his heir ? 

Stew. Most true, if ever truth were pregnant 
by circumstance : that which you hear you '11 
swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. 
The mantle of queen Hermione's ; — her jewel about 
the neck of it ; — the letters of Antigonus, found 
with it, which they know to be his character ; — the 
majesty of the creature, in resemblance of the 
mother ; — the affection of nobleness, which nature 
shows above her breeding ; — and many other evi- 
dences, proclaim her with all certainty to be the 
king's daughter. Did you see the meeting of the 
two kings ? 

Hog. No. 

Stew. Then have you lost a sight, which was 
to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you 
have beheld one joy crown another, so and in such 



a _ with clipping her;] That is, embracing her. So in " Corio 
lanus." Act I. Sc. 6, — 

246 



manner, that it seemed sorrow wept to take leave 
of them, — for their joy waded in tears. There 
was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands, with 
countenance of such distraction, that they were to 
be known by garment, not by favour. Our king, 
being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his 
found daughter, as if that joy were now become a 
loss, cries, 0, thy mother, thy mother! then asks 
Bohemia forgiveness ; then embraces his son-in- 
law; then again worries he his daughter with 
clipping* her ; now he thanks the old shepherd, 
which stands by like a weather-bitten conduit of 
many kings' reigns. I never heard of such another 
encounter, which lames report to follow it, and 
undoes description to do it. 

Rog. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, 
that carried hence the child ? 

Stew. Like an old tale still, which will have 
matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep, and 
not an ear open. He was torn to pieces with a 
bear : this avouches the shepherd's son ; who has 
not only his innocence (which seems much) to 
justify him, hut a handkerchief and rings of his, 
that Paulina knows. 

Gent. What became of his bark and his fol- 
lowers ? 

Stew. Wrecked the same instant of their 



"O! let me clip ye 
In arms as sound as when I woo'd." 



ACT V.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[SCENE II. 



master's death, and in the view of the shepherd : 
so that all the instruments which aided to expose 
the child, were even then lost when it was found. 
But, O, the noble combat that, 'twixt joy and 
sorrow, was fought in Paulina ! She had one eye 
declined for the loss of her husband, another ele- 
vated that the oracle was fulfilled : she lifted the 
princess from the earth ; and so locks her in em- 
bracing, as if she would pin her to her heart, that 
she might no more be in danger of losing. 

Gent. The dignity of this act was worth the 
audience of kings and princes ; for by such was it 
acted. 

Stew. One of the prettiest touches of all, and 
that which angled for mine eyes, (caught the water, 
though not the fish) was, when at the relation of 
the queen's death, with the manner how she came 
to 't, (bravely confessed and lamented by the king) 
how attentiveness wounded his daughter; till, from 
one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an 
Alas I I would fain say, bleed tears, — for I am 
sure my heart wept blood. Who was most 
marble there changed colour; some swooned, all 
sorrowed : if all the world could have seen 't, the 
woe had been universal. 

Gent. Are they returned to the court ? 

Stew. No :' the princess hearing of her mo- 
ther's statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina, 
— a piece many years in doing, and now newly 
performed by that rare Italian master, Julio Ro- 
mano, who, had he himself eternity, and could 
put breath into his work, would beguile Nature of 
her custom, so perfectly he is her ape : he so near 
to Hermione hath done Hermione, that they say 
one would speak to her, and stand in hope of 
answer : — thither, with all greediness of affection, 
are they gone ; and there they intend to sup. 

Hog. I thought she had some great matter 
there in hand ; for she hath privately twice or 
thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, 
visited that removed house. Shall we thither, and 
with our company piece the rejoicing ? 

Gent. Who would be thence that has the 
benefit of access ? every wink of an eye, some 
new grace will be born: our absence makes us 
unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along. 

[Exeunt. 

Aut. Now, had I not the dash of my former 
life in me, would preferment drop on my head. I 
brought the old man and his son aboard the prince ; 
told him I heard them talk of a fardel, and I know 
not what ; but he at that time, over-fond of the 
shepherd's daughter, (so he then took her to be) 
who began to be much sea-sick, and himself little 
better, extremity of weather continuing, this mys- 
tery remained undiscovered. But 't is all one to 
me ; for had I been the finder-out of this secret, 
it would not have relished among my other dis- 



credits. Here come those I have done good to 
against my will, and already appearing in the 
blossoms of their fortune. 



Enter Shepherd and Clown. 

Shep. Come, boy; I am past more children, 
but thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen 
born. 

Clo. You are well met, sir. You denied to 
fight with me this other day, because I was no 
gentleman born. See you these clothes ? say, you 
see them not, and think me still no gentleman 
born: you were best say these robes are not 
gentlemen born. Give me the lie, do ; and try 
whether I am not now a gentleman born. 

Aut. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman 
born. 

Clo. Ay, and have been so any time these four 
hours. 

Shep. And so have I, boy. 

Clo. So you have: — but I was a gentleman 
born before my father ; for the king's son took me 
by the hand, and called me brother ; and then the 
two kings called my father brother ; and then the 
prince my brother, and the princess my sister, 
called my father father; and so we wept, — and 
there was the first gentleman-like tears that ever 
we shed. 

Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more. 

Clo. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so 
preposterous estate as we are. 

Aut. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me 
all the faults I have committed to your worship, 
and to give me your good report to the prince my 
master. 

Shep. Pr'ythee, son, do; for we must be 
gentle, now we are gentlemen. 

Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life ? 

Aut. Ay, an it like your good worship. 

Clo. Give me thy hand : I will swear to the 
prince thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in 
Bohemia. 

Shep. You may say it, but not swear it. 

Clo. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? 
Let boors and franklins say it, I'll swear it. 

Shep. How if it be false, son ? 

Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman 
may swear it in the behalf of his friend : — and 
I'll swear to the prince, thou art a tall fellow Oi 
thy hands, a and that thou wilt not be drunk ; but I 
know thou art" no tall fellow of thy hands, and 
that thou wilt be drunk ; but I'll swear it ; and I 
would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands* 



a — a tall fellow of thy hands,—] Set note (»), p. 237, Vol. II. 

247 




Aut, I will prove so, sir, to my power. 

Clo. Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow : if 
I do not wonder how thou dar'st venture to be 
drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not. — 
Hark ! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are 
going to see the queen's picture. Come, follow 
us : we'll be thy good masters. [Exeunt. 



SCENE III.— The same. A Chapel in Paulina's 
House, 

Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizel, Perdita, 
Camillo, Paulina, Lords, and Attendants. 

Leon. 0, grave and good Paulina, the great 
comfort 
That I have had of thee ! 

Paul, What, sovereign sir, 



a With your crown' d brother, and these your contracted—'] 
This verse reads souncout.'ily that we suspect the second "your" 
to be an interpolation of tit compositor. 

248 



I did not well, I meant well. All my services 
You have paid home : but that you have vouch- 

saf'd, 
With your crown'd brother, and these your 6 con- 
tracted 
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, 
It is a surplus of your grace, which never 
My life may last to answer. 

Leon. 0, Paulina, 

We honour you with trouble : — but we came 
To see the statue of our queen : your gallery 
Have we pass'd through, not without much content 
In many singularities ; but we saw not 
That which my daughter came to look upon, 
The statue of her mother. 

Paul. As she liv'd peerless, 

So her dead likeness, I do well believe, 
Excels whatever yet you look'd upon, 
Or hand of man hath done ; therefore I keep it 
Lonely,* apart. But here it i3 — prepare 



(*) Old text, Louelg. 




To see the life as lively mock'd as ever 
Still sleep mock'd death : behold ! and say 'tis 
well. 
[Paulina undraws a curtain, and discovers 
Hebmione as a statue. 
I like your silence, — it the more shows off 
Your wonder: but yet speak; — first, you, my 

liege. 
Comes it not something near ? 



Leon. Her natural posture !— 

Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed 
Thou art Hermione, or rather, thou art she. 
In thy not chiding, — for she was as tender 
As infancy and grace. — But yet, Paulina, 
Hermione was not so much wrinkled ; nothing 
So aged as this seems. 

Pol. O, not by much. 

Paul. So much the more our carver's excellence ; 

249 



ACT V.J 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



(SCENE IIL 



Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes her 
As she liv'd now. 

Leon. As now she might have done, 

So much to my good comfort, as it is 
Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, 
Even with such life of majesty (warm life, 
As now it coldly stands) when first I woo'd her ! 
I am asham'd, — does not the stone rebuke me, — 
For being more stone than it ? — O, royal piece, 
There's magic in thy majesty ; which has 
My evils conjur'd to remembrance ; and 
From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, 
Standing like stone with thee ! 

Peb. And give me leave ; 

And do not say 't is superstition that 
I kneel, and then implore her blessing. — Lady, 
Dear queen, that ended when I but began, 
Give me that hand of yours to kiss. 

Paul. 0, patience ! 

The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour 's 
Not dry. 

Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on, 
Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, 
So many summers dry : scarce any joy 
Did ever so long live ; no sorrow, 
But kill'd itself much sooner. 

Pol. Dear my brother, 

Let him that was the cause of this have power 
To take off so much grief from you as he 
Will piece up in himself. 

Paul. Indeed, my lord, 

If I had thought the sight of my poor image 
Would thus have wrought you (for the stone is 

mine) 
I'd not have show'd it. 



» Let be! let be! 

Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already — 
Wbat was he that did make it? — ] 

To a reader of taste and sensibility, the art by which the emotions 
of Leontes are developed in this situation, from the moment 
when with an apparent feeling of disappointment he first beholds 
the " so much wrinkled" statue, and gradually becomes impressed, 
amazed, enthralled, till at length, borne along by a wild, tumul- 
tuous throng of indefinable sensations, he reaches that grand 
climax where, in delirious rapture, he clasps the figure to his 
bosom and faintly murmurs, — 

"O, she's warm!" 

must appear consummate. Mr. Collier and his annotator, how- 
ever, are not satisfied. To them the eloquent abruption, — 

" — but that, methinks, already — 
What was he that did make it ? " 

js but a blot, and so, to add "to the force and clearness of the 
speech of Leontes," they stem the torrent of his passion in mid- 
stream and make him drivel out, — 

" Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already 
I am but dead, stone looking upon stone." ! 

Can anything be viler? Conceive Leontes whimpering of himself 
as " dead," just when the thick pulsation of his heart could have 
been heard ! and speaking of the statue as a " stone " at the very 
moment when, to his imagination, it was flesh and blood 1 Was 
it thus Shakespeare wrought ? The insertion of such a line in 
such a place is absolutely monstrous, and implies, both in the 
forger and the utterer, an entire incompetence to appreciate the 
finer touches of his genius. But it does more, for it betrays the 
most discreditable ignorance of the current phraseology of the 
poet's time. When Leontes savs — 

250 



Leon. Do not draw the curtain ! 

Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your 
fancy 
May think anon it moves. 

Leon. Let be ! let be ! 

Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already — * 
What was he that did make it ? — See, my lord ! 
Would you not deem it breath'd ? and that those 

veins 
Did verily bear blood ? 

Pol. Masterly done ! 

The very life seems warm upon her lip. 

Leon. The fixure of her eye has motion in't, 
As we are mock'd with art ! 

Paul. I'll draw the curtain; 

My lord's almost so far transported that 
He'll think anon it lives. 

Leon. O, sweet Paulina, 

Make me to think so twenty years together ! 
No settled senses of the world can match 
The pleasure of that madness. Left alone ! 

Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd 
you: but 
I could afflict you further. 

Leon. Do, Paulina ! 

For this affliction has a taste as sweet 
As any cordial comfort. — Still, methinks, 
There is an air comes from her ! What fine 

chisel 
Could ever yet cut breath ? Let no man mock me, 
For I will kiss her. 

Paul. Good my lord, forbear ! 

The ruddiness upon her lip is wet ; (1) 
You '11 mar it, if you kiss it ; stain your own 
With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain ? 



" Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already — " 

Mr. Collier's annotator, and Mr. Collier, and all the advocates of 
the intercalated line, assume him to mean, — " I should desire to 
die, only that I am already dead or holding converse with the 
de,ad; " whereas, in fact, the expression, " Would I were dead," 
&c. is neither more nor less than an imprecation, equivalent 
to — « Would I may die," &c. ; and the king's real meaning, in 
reference to Paulina's remark, that he will think anon it moves, 
is, " May 1 die, if I do not think it moves already." In proof of this, 
take the following examples, which might easily be multiplied a 
hundred-fold, of similar forms of speech: — 

" and, would I might be dead, 

If I in thought — " &c. 

The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act IV. Sc. 4. 

" Would I had no being, 
If this salute my blood a jot." 

Henry VIII. Act II. Sc. 3. 

" The gods rebuke me, but it is tidings 
To wash the eyes of kings." 

Antony and Cleopatra, Act V. Sc. 1. 

" Would I with thunder presently might die 
So I might speak." 

Summer's Last Will and Testament, 

" Let me suffer death 

If in my apprehension — " &c. 
Beaumont and Fletcher's Play of The " Night* 
Walker," Act III. Sc. 6. 

" Would I were dead," &c. 
' If I do know," &c. 
Ben Jon son's Tale of a Tub, Act II. Sc. 1, 



A.CT r] 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



[SCENE III. 



Lkon. No, not these twenty years ! 

Per. So long could I 

Stand by, a looker-on. 

Paul. Either forbear, 

Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you 
For more amazement. If you can behold it, 
I '11 make the statue move ; indeed, descend 
And take you by the hand : but then you'll think 
(Which I protest against) I am assisted 
By wicked powers. 

Leon. What you can make her do, 

T am content to look on : what to speak, 
I am content to hear ; for 't is as easy 
To make her speak as move. 

Paul. It is requir'd 

You do awake your faith. Then all stand still ; 
Or * those that think it is unlawful business 
I am about, let them depart. 

Leon. Proceed ! 

No foot shall stir. 

Paul. Music, awake her, strike ! — 

[Music. 
'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach; 
Strike all that look upon with marvel ! Come ; 
"I'll fill your grave up : stir ; nay, come away ; 
Bequeath to Death your numbness, for from him 
Dear Life redeems you. — You perceive she stirs ; 
[Hermione slowly descends from the 'pedestal. 
Start not ; her actions shall be holy as 
You hear my spell is lawful : do not shun her, 
Until you see her die again ; for then 
You kill her double. Nay, present your hand : 
When she was young you woo'd her ; now in age 
Is she become the suitor ! 

Leon. 0, she 's warm ! 

[Embracing her. 
If this be magic, let it be an art 
Lawful as eating. 

Pol. She embraces him ! 

Cam. She hangs about his neck ! 
If she pertain to life, let her speak too. 

Pol. Ay, and make 't manifest where she has 
livM, 
Or how stol'n from the dead ! 

Paul. That she is living, 

Were it but told you, should be hooted at 
Like an old tale ; but it appears she lives, 



(*) Old text, On. 



» Partake — ] That is, participate. 

b — whose worth and honesty, &c] " Whose " refers to Camillo, 
not to Paulina. 
c What!— look upon my brother: — ] This unfolds a charming 



Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while. — 
Please you to interpose, fair madam ; kneel, 
And pray your mother's blessing. — Turn, good 

lady; 
Our Perdita is found. 
[Presenting Perdita, who kneels to Hermione. 
Her. You gods, look down, 

And from your sacred vials pour your graces 
Upon my daughter's head ! — Tell me, mine own, 
Where hast thou been preserv'd ? where liv'd ? 

how found 
Thy father's court ? for thou shalt hear that I, — 
Knowing by Paulina that the oracle 
Gave hope thou wast in being, — have preserv'd 
Myself, to see the issue. 

Paul. There 's time enough for that : 

Lest they desire, upon this push, to trouble 
Your joys with like relation. — Go together, 
You precious winners all ; your exultation 
Partake* to every one. I, an old turtle, 
Will wing me to some wither'd bough, and there 
My mate, that 's never to be found again, 
Lament till I am lost. 

Leon. 0, peace, Paulina ! 

Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent, 
As I by thine a wife : this is a match, [mine ; 
And made between 's by vows. Thou hast found 
But how, is to be question'd, — for I saw her, 
As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said 

many 
A prayer upon her grave. I '11 not seek far 
(For him, I partly know his mind) to find thee 
An honourable husband. — Come, Camillo, 
And take her by the hand: — whose b worth and 

honesty 
Is richly noted ; and here justified 
By us, a pair of kings. — Let 's from this place. — 
What ! — look upon my brother : c — both your 

pardons, 
That e'er I put between your holy looks 
My ill suspicion. — This your son-in-law, 
And son unto the king, whom heavens directing, 
Is troth-plight to your daughter. — Good Paulina, 
Lead us from hence, where we may leisurely 
Each one demand, and answer to his part 
Perform'd in this wide gap of time, since first 
We were dissever'd : hastily lead away. [Exeunt. 



and delicate trait of action in Hermione ; remembering how six- 
teen sad years agone her innocent freedoms with Polixenes had 
been misconstrued, and keenly sensible, even amidst the joy of 
her present restoration to child and husband, of.the bitter penalty 
they had involved, she now turns from him, when they meet, 
with feelings of mingled modesty and apprehension. 



•251 



ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS 



ACT I. 



(1) Scene II.— 

Still virginalling 

Upon his palm ?] 

By "virginalling," Leontes meant that Hermione was 
tapping or fingering on the hand of Polixenes, in the 
manner of a person playing on the "Virginals." This 
instrument, which, with the spinet and harpsichord, Mr. 
Chappell tells us was the precursor of the modern piano- 
forte, was stringed, and played on with keys, formerly 
called jacks : — 

" Where be these rascals that skip up and down, 
Faster than virginal jacks ? " 

Ram Alley, or Merry Tricks, Act IV. Sc. I. 

It was of an oblong shape, somewhat resembling a small 
square pianoforte, and, from the repeated mention of it in 
books of Shakespeare's age, as well as long afterwards, must 
have been in general vogue among the opulent. The name, 
as Nares supposed, was most probably derived from its 
being chiefly used by young girls. 

(2) Scene II. — Are you mov'd, my lord?] In Greene's 
novel, the theme of which, it will be seen from our ex- 
tracts, Shakespeare pretty closely followed, except in the 
repulsive catastrophe, the scene of action is reversed ; 
Pandosto [Leontes] being King of Bohemia, and Egistus 
[Polixenes] King of Sicilia. After describing the visit 

f)aid by the latter to Pandosto, and the "honest fami- 
iarity " which sprang up between him and Bellaria [Her- 
mione], the novelist proceeds to expatiate on the effects of 
this familiarity upon the mind of Pandosto : — 

" He then began to measure all their actions, and to 
misconstrue of their too private familiaritie, judging that 
it was not for honest affection, but for disordinate fancy, 
so that hee began to watch them more narrowly to see if 
he coulde gette any true and certaine proofe to confirme his 
doubtfull suspition. While thus he noted their lookes and 
gestures and suspected their thoughtes and meaninges, 
they two seely soules, who doubted nothing of this his 
treacherous intent, frequented daily eache others companie, 
which drave him into such a franticke passion, that he 
beganne to beare a secret hate to Egistus and a lowring 
countenance to Bellaria ; who marveiling at such unac- 
customed frowns, began to cast beeyond the moone, and 
to enter into a thousand sundrie thoughtes, which way she 
should offend her husband : but finding in her selfe a cleare 
conscience ceassed to muse, until such time as she might 
find fit opportunitie to demaund the cause of his dumps. 
In the meane time Pandostoes minde was so farre charged 
with jealousy, that he did no longer doubt, but was as- 
sured, (as he thought) that his friend Egistus had entered 
a wrong pomte m his tables, and so had played him false 
play." 

(3) Scene II.— 

I'll doH, my lord. 

Leon. I will seem, friendly, as thou hast advis'd me.] 

Compare the corresponding circumstances as related in the 
uovel : — "Devising with himself a long time how he might 
best put away Egistus without suspition of treacherous raur- 
252 



der, hee concluded at last to poyson him ; which opinion 
pleasing his humour, he became resolute in his determina- 
tion, and the better to bring the matter to passe he called 
unto him his cupbearer, with whom in secret he brake the 
matter, promising to him for the performance thereof to 
geve him a thousande crownes of yearely revenues. 

" His cupbearer, eyther being of a good conscience or 
wilHng for fashion sake to deny such a bloudy request, 
began with great reasons to perswade Pandosto from his 
determinate mischief, showing him what an offence mur- 
ther was to the Gods ; how such unnaturall actions did 
more displease the heavens than men, and that causelesse 
cruelty did sildome or never escape without revenge : he 
layd before his face that Egistus was his friend, a king, and 
one that was come into his kingdome to confirme a league 
of perpetuall amitie betwixt them ; that he had and did 
shew him a most friendly countenance ; how Egistus was 
not onely honoured of his owne people by obedience, but 
also loved of the Bohemians for his curtesie, and that if he 
now should without any just or manifest cause poyson 
bim, it would not onely be a great dishonour to hia 
majestie, and a meanes to sow perpetuall enmity between 
the Sycilians and the Bohemians, but also his owne sub- 
jects would repine at such treacherous cruelty. These 
and such like perswasions of Franion (for so was his cup- 
bearer called) could no whit prevaile to diswade him from 
his devellish enterprize, but remaining resolute in his 
determination (his fury so fired with rage as it could not 
be appeased with reason), he began with bitter taunts to 
take up his man, and. to lay before him two baites, prefer- 
ment and death ; saying that if he would poyson Egistus 
he would advance him to high dignities ; if he refused to doe 
it of an obstinate minde, no torture should be too great to 
requite his disobedience. Franion, seeing that to perswade 
Pandosto any more was but to strive against the streame, 
consented as soone as an opportunity would give him leave 
to dispatch Egistus : wherewith Pandosto remained some- 
what satisfied, hoping now he should be fully revenged of 
such mistmsted injuries, intending also as soon as Egistua 
was dead to give his wife a sop of the same sawse, and so 
be rid of those which were the cause of hisrestles sorrow." 

(4) Scene II. — Come, sir, away! [Exeunt.] The be- 
trayal of the king's jealous design is thus related in 
the story: — "Lingring thus in doubtfull feare, in, an 
evening he went to Egistus lodging, and desirous to break e 
with him of certaine affaires that touched the king, aftftr 
all were commanded out of the chamber, Franion made 
manifest the whole conspiracie which Pandosto had devised 
against him, desiring Egistus not to account him a traytor 
for bewraying his maisters eouns-aile, but to thinke that ho 
did it for conscience : hoping that although his maister, 
inflamed with rage or incensed by some sinister rcportes or 
slanderous speeches, had imagined such causelesse i uis - 
chiefe, yet when time should pacifie his anger, and try 
those talebearers but flattering parasites, then he won Id 
count him as a faithfull servant that with such care had 
kept his maisters credite. Egistus had not fully heard 
Franion tell forth his tale, but a quaking feare possessed 
all his limnes, thinking that there was some treason 
wrought, and that Franion did but shaddow his craft with 
these false colours : wherefore he began to waxe in choller, 



ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. 



and saide that he doubtod not Pandosto, sith he was his 
friend, and there had never as yet beene any breach of 
amity. He had not sought to invade his lands, to conspire 
with his enemies, to disswade his subjects from their alle- 
giance ; but in word and thought he rested his at all 
times : he knew not therefore any cause that should moove 
Pandosto to seeke his death, but suspected it to be a com- 
pacted knavery of the Bohemians to bring the king and 
him to oddes. 

" Franion staying him in the middst of his talke, told 
nim that to dally with princes was with the swannes to 
sing against their death, and that if the Bohemians had 
intended any such mischiefe, it might have beene better 
brought to passe then by revealing the conspiracie ; 
therefore his Majestie did ill to misconstrue of his good 



meaneng, sith his intent was to hinder treason, not to 
become a traytor ; and to confirme his promises, if it 
pleased his Majestie to fly into Sicilia for the safegarde 
of his life, hee would goe with him, and if then he found 
not such a practice to be pretended, let his imagined 
treacherie be repay ed with most monstrous torments. 
Egistus hearing the solemne protestations of Franion, 
begann to consider that in love and kingdomes neither 
faith nor lawe is to bee respected, doubting that Pandosto 
thought by his death to destroy his men, and with speedy 
warre to invade Sicilia. These and such doubtes 
throughly weyghed he gave great thankes to Franion, 
promising if hee might with life returne to Syracusa, that 
he would create bim a duke in Sy cilia, craving his counsell 
how hee might escape out of the countrie." 



ACT II. 



(!) Scene I.— 

Adieu, my lord : 

I never wish'd to see ycu sorry ; now 

I trust I shall.] 
" "Whereupon he began to imagine that Franion and his 
wife Bellaria had conspired with Egistus, and that the 
feivent affection shee bare him was the onely meanes of 
his secret departure ; in so much that incensed with rage 
he commaundes that his wife should be carried straight 
to prison untill they heard further of his pleasure. The 
guarde, unwilling to lay their hands one such a vertuous 
princesse and yet fearing the kings fury, went very 
sorrowfull to fulfill their charge. Comming to the 
queenes lodging they found her playing with her yong 
sonne Garinter, unto whom with teares doing the mes- 
sage, Bellaria, astonished at such a hard censure and 
finding her cleere consceence a sure advocate to pleade in 
her cause, went to the prison most willingly, where with 
sighes and teares shee past away the time till she might 
come to her triall. 

"But Pandosto, whose reason was suppressed with rage 
and whose unbridled follie was incensed with fury, seeing 
Franion had bewrayed his secrets, and that Egistus might 
well be rayled on, but not revenged, determined to 
wreake all his wrath on poore Bellaria. He therefore 
caused a generall proclamation to be made through all his 
realme that the queene and Egistus had, by the help of 
Franion, not only committed most incestuous adultery, 
but also had conspired the kings death : whereupon the 
traitor Franion was fled away with Egistus, and Bellaria 
was most justly imprisoned. This proclamation being 
once blazed through the country, although the vertuou3 
disposition of the queene did halfe discredit the contents, 
yet the suddaine and speedy passage of Egistus, and the 
secret departure of Franion, induced them (the circum- 
stances throughly considered) to thinke that both the 
proclamation was true, and the king greatly injured : yet 
they pittyed her case, as sorrowful that so good a ladye 
should be crossed with such adverse fortune. But the 
king, whose restlesse rage would remit no pitty, thought 



that although he might sufficiently requite his wives 
falshood with the bitter plague of pinching penury, yet 
his minde should never be glutted with revenge till he 
might have fit time and opportunity to repay the 
treachery of Egistus with a totall injury. But a curst 
cow hath oftentimes short homes, and a willing minde 
but a weake arme ; for Pandosto, although he felt that 
revenge was a spurre to warre, and that envy alwaies 
proffereth Steele, yet he saw that Egistus was not onely of 
great puissance and prowesse to withstand him, but had 
also many kings of his alliance to ayde him if neede should 
serve, for he married the Emperours daughter of Russia." 
— Pandosto. The Triumph of Time, 1588. 

(2) Scene III. — Poor thing, condemn'd to loss /] In the 
novel, as in the play, the unhappy queen, while in prison, 
gives birth to a daughter, which the king at first deter- 
mines shall be burnt, but being diverted from this bloody 
purpose by the remonstrance of his nobles, he resolves to 
set the hapless infant adrift upon the sea : — "The guard 
left her in this perplexitie, and carried the child to the 
king, who quite devoide of pity commanded that without 
delay it should bee put in the boat, having neither saile nor 
other [rudder I] to guid it and so to be carried into the 
midst of the sea, and there left to the wind and wave as 
the destinies please to appoint. The very ship-men, 
seeing the sweete countenance of the yong babe, began 
to accuse the king of rigor, and to pity the childs hard 
fortune ; but feare constrayned them to that which their 
nature did abhorre, so that they placed it in one of the 
ends of the boat, and with a few greene bows made a 
homely cabben to shrowd it as they could from wind and 
weather. Having thus trimmed the boat they tied it to 
a ship and so haled it into the mayne sea, and then cut in 
sunder the coarde ; which they had no sooner done, but 
there arose a mighty tempest, which tossed the little 
boate so vehemently in the waves that the ship men 
thought it could not continue long without sincking ; 
yea, the storm grew so great, that with much labour and 
perili they got to the shoare." 



ACT III. 



(1) Scene II.— Look for no less than death.] " But 

leaving the childe to her fortunes, againe to Pandosto, 
who not yet glutted with sufficient revenge desired which 
way he should best increase his wives calamitie. But first 
assembling his nobles and counsellors, hee called her for 
the more reproch into open court, where it was objected 
against her that she had committed adulterie with 



Egistus, and conspired with Franioa to poyson Pandosto 
her husband, but their pretence being partely spyed, she 
counselled them to flie away by night for their better 
safety. Bellaria, who standing like a prisoner at the 
barre, feeling in herselfe a cleare conscience to withstand 
her false accusers, seeing that no lesse than death could 
pacifie her husbands wrath, waxed bolde and desired that 

263 



ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. 



she might have lawe and justice, for mercy shee neyther 
craved- nor hoped for ; and that those perjured wretches 
which had falsely accused her to the king might be 
brought before her face to give in evidence. But Pan- 
dosto, whose rage and jealousie was such as no reason nor 
equitie could appease, tolde her, that for her accusers 
they were of such credite as their wordes were sufficient 
witnesse, and that the sodaine and secret flight of Egistus 
and Franion confirmed that which they had confessed ; 
and as for her, it was her parte to deny such a monstrous 
crime, and to be impudent in forswearing the fact, since 
shee had past all shame in committing the fault : but her 
state countenaunce should stand for no coyne, for as the 
bastard which she bare was served, so she should with 
some cruell death be requited." — Pandosto. The Triumph 
of Time, 1588. 

(2) Scene II.— 

Your honours all, 

I do refer me to the oracle : 
Apollo be my judge /] 

Tl e extracts here given will show that in most of the inci- 
dents connected with the arraignment of the queen, the 
great dramatist varies but little from the story. He has 
made one important change, however, without which we 
should have lost the finest scene in the play ; for in the 
novel the unfortunate lady, overcome with grief for the 
death of her eldest child, expires in the public court shortly 
after the response of the oracle is declared. 

" The noble men which sate in judgement said that Bel- 
laria spake reason, and intreated the king that the accusers 
might be openly examined and sworne, and if then the 
evidence were such as the jury might finde her guilty, (for 
seeing she was a prince she ought to be tryed by her peeres) 
then let her have such punishment as the extremitie of the 
law will assigne to such malefactors. The king presently 
made answere that in this case he might and would dis- 
pence with the law, and that the jury being once panneld 
they should take his word for sufficient evidence, other- 
wise he would make the proudest of them repent it. The 
noble men seeing the king in choler were all whist ; but 
Bellaria, whose life then hung in the ballaunce, fearing more 
perpetual infamie than momentarie death, told the king if 
his furie might stand for a law that it were vaine to have 
the jury yeeld their verdict ; and therefore she fell downe 
upon her knees, and desired the king that for the love he 
bare to his young sonne Garinter, whome she brought into 
the world, that hee would graunt her a request ; which 
was this, that it would please his majestie to send sixe of 
his noble men whom he best trusted to the Isle of Delphos, 
there to enquire of the oracle of Apollo whether she had 
committed adultery with Egistus or conspired to poyson 
him with Franion? and if the god Apollo, who by his 



divine essence knew al secrets, gave answere that she was 
guiltie, she were content to suffer any torment were it 
never so terrible. The request was so reasonable that 
Pandosto could not for shame deny it, unlesse he would 
bee counted of all his subjects more wilfull than wise : he 
therefore agreed that with as much speede as might be 
there should be certaine Embassadores dispatched to the 
He of Delphos, and in the meane season he commanded 
that his wife should be kept in close prison." 

(3) Scene II. — And the king shall live without an heir, 
if that which is lost be not found.] The answer of the 
oracle in the play is almost literally the same as that in 
the tale : — 

"THE OEACLE. 

" Suspition is no proofe : Jealousie is an unequal^'udge : 
Bellaria is chast : Egistus blameless : Franion a true sub- 
ject : Pandosto treacherous : His babe innocent, and the 
king shall live long without an heire, if that which is lost be 
not founde." 

(4) Scene III. — They have scared away two of my best 

sheep, if anywhere I have them, 'tis by the sea-side, 

browzing of 'ivy, .] This is one of the instances, proving that 
Shakespeare had the novel before him while composing his 
drama, in which the identical expression of the original is 
transferred to the copy. After recounting how the babe, 
which had been left to the mercies of the " gastfull seas," 
" floated two whole daies without succour, readie at every 
puffe to bee drowned in the sea, till at last the tempest 
ceased and the b'ttle boate was driven with the tyde into 
the coaste of Sycilia, where sticking uppon the sandes it 
rested," the novelist proceeds to tell that, "It fortuned a 
poore mercenary sheepheard that dwelled in Sycilia, who 
got his living by other mens flockes, missed one of his 
sheepe, and thinking it had strayed into the covert that was 
hard by, sought very diligently to find that which he could 
not see, fearing either that the wolves or eagles had un- 
done him (for he was so poore as a sheepe was halfe his 
substance), wandered downe toward the sea cliffes to see if 
perchaunce the sheepe was browsing on the sea ivy, whereon 
they greatly doe feede ; but not finding her there, as he was 
ready to returne to his flocke hee heard a child crie, but 
knowing there was no house nere, he thought he had mis- 
taken the sound and that it was the bleatyng of his sheepe. 
Wherefore looking more narrowely, as he cast his eye to 
the sea, he spyed a little boate, from whence, as he atten- 
tively listened, he might heare the cry to come. Standing 
a good while in a maze, at last he went to the shoare, and 
wading to the boate, as he looked in he saw the little babe 
lying al alone ready to die for hunger and colde, wrapped 
in a mantle of scarlet richely imbrodered with golde, and 
having a chayne about the necke." 



ACT IV. 



(1) Scene II. — Trol-my-dames.] A game more anciently 
known as "Pigeon-holes," because the balls were driven 
through arches on the board resembling the apertures in a 
dove-cote. It is mentioned in a treatise, quoted by Far- 
mer, on " Buchstone Bathes;" — "The ladyes, gentle woo- 
inen, wyves, maydes, if the weather be not agreeable, may 
have in the ende of a benche eleven holes made, intoO the 
which to troule pummits, either wyolent or softe, after 
their own discretion : the pastyme troule in madame is 
termed ; " and an illustration, showing the board and mode 
of play, will be found prefixed to Emblem No. II. in 
Quarles'." Emblems," 1635, which begins: — 

254 



" Prepost'rous fool, thou troul'st amiss;" 
Thou err'st ; that's not the way, 'tis this." 

(2) Scene II. — An ape-bearer.'] In explanation of,; a 
passage in Massinger's play of " The Bondman," Act III. 
Sc. 3, Gifford has an amusing note on the excellence dis- 
played by our ancestors in the education of animals : — 
" Banks's horse far surpassed all that have been brought 
up in the academy of Mr. Astley ; and the apes of these 
days are mei-e clowns to their progenitors. The apes of 
Massinger's time were gifted with a pretty smattering of 
pohtics and philosophy. The widow Wild had one of them : 
' He would come over for all my friends, but was the dog- 



ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. 



ged'st thing to my enemies ; he would sit upon his tale 
before them, and frown like John-a-napes when the pope 
is named.' " — The Parson's Wedding. 
Another may be found in Ram Alley : — 

*' Men say you've tricks ; remember, noble captain, 
You skip when I shall shake my whip. Now, sir, 
What can you do for the great Turk ? 
What can you do for the Pope of Rome? 
Lo, 

He stirreth not, he moveth not, he waggeth not. 
What can you do for the town of Geneva, sirrah? 

{Captain holds up his hand," &c. 

The occupation of the ape-bearer, then, was to instruct 
apes in their tumbling, and to exhibit the learned animals 
for a consideration to the public. The course of tuition 
must have required no little patience on the part of the 
teacher, and great docility in the pupil ; for it usually 
ended in giving to the ape-bearer an absolute control over 
the creature, which, by means of some secret correspond- 
ence between them, could be made to express either anger 
or good-humour at the keeper's will. This perfect mastery 
gave occasion for a saying attributed to James I. — " If I 
have Jack-a-napes, I can make him bite you ; if you have 
Jack-a-napes, you can make him bite me." In the In- 
duction to Ben Jonson's "Bartholomew Fair," the stage- 
keeper speaks of " a juggler with a well-educated ape, 
to come over the chain for a King of England, and back 
again for the prince ; and sit still for the Pope and the 
King of Spain." This evolution of coming over, &c. was 
performed by the animal's placing his forepaws on the 
ground, and turning over the chain on his head, and going 
back again in the same fashion, as the feat is represented 
in an illuminated manuscript of the fourteenth century. 

(3) Scene II. — Then he compassed a motion of the Pro- 
digal Son.] A " Motion," though sometimes used to denote 
a puppet, more frequently signified a, puppet-show. ^ In these 
exhibitions, the successors of the ancient Mysteries, scrip- 
tural subjects appear to have been the most attractive. In 
Ben Jonson's "Bartholomew Fair," Act V. Sc. I., the 
master of a puppet-show ejaculates, — "0, the motions 
that I Lanthorn Leatherhead have given light to in my 
time since my master, Pod, died ! Jerusalem was a stately 
thing, and so was Nineveh and the City of Norwich, and 
Sodom and Gomorrah," &c. Mr. Halliwell has given an 
engraving representing the performance of a Motion of the 
Prodigal Son, copied from an English woodcut of the seven- 
teenth century ; and Strutt, in his "Sports and Pastimes," 
reprints a Bartholomew Fair showman's bill, which affords 
a lively picture of what a Motion was in later times : — " At 
Crawley's Booth, over against the Crown Tavern in Smith- 
field, during the time of Bartholomew Fair, will be pre- 
sented a little opera called the Old Creation of the World, 
yet newly revived ; with the addition of Noah's Flood ; 
also several fountains playing water during the -time of 
the play. — The last scene does present Noah and his family 
coming out of the Ark with all the beasts two and two, 
and all the fowls of the air seen in a prospect sitting upon 
trees; likewise over the Ark is seen the Sun rising in a 
most glorious manner : moreover, a multitude of Angels 
will be seen in a double rank, which presents a double 
prospect, one for the sun, the other for a palace, where 
will be seen six Angels ringing of bells. — Likewise 
Machines descend from above, double and treble, with 
Dives rising out of Hell, and Lazarus seen in Abraham's 
bosom," &c. 

(4) Scene II.— 

Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, 

And merrily hent the stile-a : 
A merry heart goes all the day. 
Your sad tires in a mile-a.] 
These lines are part of a song found in a collection of 
•' Witty Ballads, Jovial Songs, and Merry Catches," called 
" An Antidote against Melancholy ;" 1661. It is said to 
have been set as a round for three voices by John Hilton ; 



and the melody, a base and accompaniment being added, 
is given as follows from " The Dancing Master," 1650, by 
Mr. Knight in his " Pictorial Shakespeare:"— 



i / Tre-f* 



** 



& 



! «1 



H — h 



3t^Z 



P~^ , 



T»— •- 



rtri i u 

Jog on, jog on the foot - path way, And 



?§8Sr^ 



m 



t 




mer-ri-ly hent the stile, ; A mer-ry heart goes 



» 



tzt 



gi^: 






*=i=:* 



SHI 



all the day, Your sad tires in a mile, 0. 



mk 



it 



Ei 



Z=PE 



(5) Scene III.— 

/ bless the time, 
When my good falcon made her flight across 
Thy father's ground.] 

So in the tale: — "It happened not long after this that 
there was a meeting of all the farmers daughters in Sy- 
cilia, whither Fawnia was also bidden as the mistres of the 
feast, who having attired her selfe in her best garments, 
went among the rest of her companions to the merry 
meeting, there spending the day in such homely pastimes 
as shepheards use. As the evening grew on, and their 
sportes ceased, ech taking their leave at other, Fawnia, 
desiring one of her companions to beare her companie, 
went home by the flocke to see if they were well folded, 
and as they returned it fortuned that Dorastus (who all 
that day had been hawking, and kilde store of game) in- 
countred by the way these two mayds, and casting his eye 
sodenly on Fawnia -he was halfe afraid fearing that with 
Acteon he had seene Diana ; for he thought such exquisite 
perfection could not be founde in any mortall creature." 

(6) Scene III.— 

The gods themselves, 

Humbling their deities to love, have taken 
The shapes of beasts upon them : Jupiter 
Became a bull, and bellow' d ; the green Neptune 
A ram, and bleated; and the fire-rob' d god, 
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, 
As I seem now.] 

Literally, this is from the novel ; but mark the change 
effected by the few bat admirably chosen epithets : — 
"And yet, Dorastus, shame not at thy shepheards weede ; 
the heavenly godes have sometime earthly though tes. 
Neptune became a ram, Jupiter a bul, Apollo a shep- 
heard : they gods, and yet in love ; and thou a man 
appointed to love." 

255 



ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. 



(7) SCBNB III.— 

0, Proserpina, 

For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou lett'stfall 
From Dis's waggon /] 

See the passage in Ovid's Metamorphoses, lib. v. 

" ut summa vestem laxavit ab ora 

Collecti flores tunicis cecidere remissis, — " 

and the following translation by Shakespeare's contem- 
porary, Golding: — 

" Neare Enna walles there stands a lake Pergusa is the name, 
Cayster heareth not more songs of swannes than doth the same. 
A wood environs every side the water round about, 
And with his leaves as with a veile doth keepe the sun heat out. 
The boughes doo yeeld a coole fresh aire : the moistnesse of the 

ground 
JTeelds sundrie flowers . continuall spring is all the yeare there 

found. 
While in this garden Proserpine was taking her pastime, 
In gathering either violets blew, or lillies white as lime, 
And while of maidenlie desire she fild her maund and lap 
Endevouring to out-gather her companions there. By hap 
Uis spide her, lov'd her, caught her up, and all at once well 

neere : 
So hastie, hot, and swift a thing is love, as may appeere. 
The ladie with a wailing voiee afright did often call 
Her mother and her waiting maids, but mother most of all. 
And as she from the upper part her garment would have rent 
By chance she let her lap slip downe, and out the flowers went." 

(8) SCENE III. — Poking-sticlcs of steel.'] "These pohing- 
sticks were heated in the fire, and made use of to adjust 
the plaits of ruffs. In Marston's 'Malcontent' [Act V. 
Sc. 3] 1604, is the following instance : • There is such 
a deale a pinning these ruffes, when the fine clean fall 
is worth all ; and again, if you should chance to take 
a nap in an afternoon, your falling band requires no 
pohing-stich to recover his form,' &c. Again, in Middle- 
ton's comedy of 'Blurt, Master Constable' [Act III. 
Sc. 3], 1602 : ■ Your ruff must stand in print ; and for 
that purpose, get poking -sticks with fair long handles, lest 
mey scorch your [lily sweating] hands.' Again, in the 
Second Part of Stubbes's Anatomie of Abuses, 8vo. no 
date : * They (poking-sticks) be made of yron and Steele, 
and some of brasse, kept as bright as silver, yea some of 
silver itselfe, and it is well if in processe of time they grow 
not 'to be gold. The fashion whereafter they be made, 
I cannot resemble to any thing so well as to a squirt or a 
little squibbe which little children \ised to squirt out water 
withal ; and when they come to starching and setting of 
their ruffes, then must this instrument be heated in the 
fire, the better to stiffen the ruffe,' &c." — Steevens. 

(9) Scene III. — Of a fish, that appeared upon the coast 
on, Wednesday the fourscore of April, <£c] "The Shake- 
sperian era was the age of ballads, broadsides, and fugitive 
pieces on all kinds of wonders, which were either gross 
exaggerations of facts or mere inventions. The present 
dialogue seems to be a general, not a particular, satire ; 
but it may be curiously illustrated by an early ballad of a 
fish, copied from the unique exemplar preserved in the 
Miller collection, entitled, — ' The discription of a rare or 
rather most monstrous fishe, taken on the east cost of 
Holland the xvij. of November, anno 1566.' In 1569 was 
published a prose broadside, containing, — ' A true descrip- 
tion of this marveilous straunge Fishe, which was taken 
on Thursday was sennight, the 16. day of June, this pre- 
sent month, in the yeare of our Lord God, 1569. — Finis, 
Qd. C. R. — Imprinted at London, in Fleetstreete, beneath 
the conduit, at the signe of Saint John Evangelist, by 
Thomas Colwell.' In 1604 was entered on the books of 
the Stationers" Company : ' A strange reporte of a mon- 
strous fish that appeared in the form of a woman, from her 
waist upward, seene in the sea ; ' and in May of the same 
year, 'a ballad called a ballad of a strange and mon- 
struous fishe seene in the sea on Friday the 17 of Febr. 
1603.' In Sir Henry Herbert's office-book, which contains 
a register of all the shows of London from 1623 to 1642, is 
• a licence to Francis Sherret to shew a strange fish for a 
yeare, from the 10th of Marche, 1635.' " — Halliwell. 

256 



(10) Scene III. — Men of hair.] A dance in which the 
performers were disguised as satyrs, not unusually formed 
a feature of the entertainment on festival occasions in oldea 
time, and this species of masquerade is connected with a 
very tragic incident, graphically told by Froissart, which 
occurred at the French court in 1392 : — 

" It fortuned that, soon after the retaining of the fore* 
said knight, a marriage was made in the king's house be- 
tween a young knight of Vermandois and one of the queen's 
gentlewomen ; and because they were both of the king's 
house, the king's uncles, and other lords, ladies, and da- 
moiselles, made great triumph : there was the Dukes of 
Orleans, Berry, and Bourgoyne, and their wives, dancing 
and making great joy. The king made a great supper to- 
the lords and ladies, and the queen kept her estate, de- 
siring every man to be merry : and there was a squire of 
Normandy, called Hogreymen Gensay, he advised to make 
some pastime. The day of the marriage, which was on a 
Tuesday before Candlemas, he provided for a mummery 
against night : he devised six coats made of linen cloth, 
covered with pitch, and thereon flax-like hair, and had 
them ready in a chamber. The king put on one of them, 
and the Earl of Jouy, a young lusty knight, another, and 
Sir Charles of Poitiers the third, who was son to the earf 
erf Valentenois, and Sir Juan of Foix another, and the son 
of the Lord Nanthorillet had on the fifth, and the squire 
himself had on the sixth ; and when they were thus 
arrayed in these sad coats, and sewed fast in them, they 
seemed like wild woodhouses,* full of hair from the top of 
the head to the sole of the foot. This device pleased well 
the French king, and was well content with the squire for 
it. They were apparelled in these coats secretly in a 
chamber that no man knew thereof but such as helped 
them. When Sir Juan of Foix had well devised these 
coats, he said to the king, — 'Sir, command straightly that 
no man approach near us with any torch or fire, for if 
the fire fasten in any of these coats, we shall all be burnt 
without remedy.' The king answered and said, — 'Juan,. 
ye speak well and wisely ; it shall be done as ye have de- 
vised ; ' and incontinent sent for an usher of his chamber, 
commanding him to go into the chamber where the ladies 
danced, and to command all the varlets holding torches to 
stand up by the walls, and none of them to approach near 
to the woodhouses that should come thither to dance. 
The usher did the king's commandment, which was ful- 
filled. Soon after the Duke of Orleans entered into the- 
hall, accompanied with four knights and six torches, and 
knew nothing of the king's commandment for the torches, 
nor of the mummery that was coming thither, but thought 
to behold the dancing, and began himself to dance. There- 
with the king with the five other came in ; they were so 
disguised in flax that no man knew them : five of them 
were fastened one to another ; the king was loose, and 
went before and led the device. 

"When they entered into the hall every man took so 
great heed to them that they forgot the torches : the king 
departed from his company and went to the ladies to sport 
with them, as youth required, and so passed by the queen 
and came to the Duchess of Berry, who took and held him 
by the arm, to know what he was, but the king would 
not show his name. Then the duchess said, Ye shall not 
escape me till I know your name. In this mean season 
great mischief fell on the other, and by reason of the Duke 
of Orleans ; howbeit, it was by ignorance, and against his 
will, for if he had considered before the mischief that fell, 
he would not have done as he did for all the good in the 
world : but he was so desirous to know what personages 
the five were that danced, he put one of the torches that 
his servant held so near, that the heat of the fire entered 
into the flax (wherein if fire take there is no remedy), and 
suddenly was on a bright flame, and so each of them set 
fire on other ; the pitch was so fastened to the linen cloth, 
and their shirts so dry and fine, and so joining to their 
flesh, that they began to burn and to ciy for help : none 
durst come near them ; they that did burnt their hands 
by reason of the heat of the pitch : one of them called 



Savage*. 



ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. 



Nantkoriilet advised him how the botry was thereby ; he 
fled thither, and cast himself into a vessel full of water, 
wherein they rinsed pots, which saved him, or else he had 
been dead as the other were ; yet he was sore hurt with 
the fire. When the queen heard the cry that they made, 
she doubted her of the king, for she knew well that he 
should be one of the six ; therewith she fell into a swoon, 
and knights and ladies came and comforted her. A piteous 
noise there was in the hall. The Duchess of Berry deli- 
vered the king from that peril, for she did cast over him 
the train of her gown, and covered him from the fire. The 
king would have gone from her. Whither will ye go? 
quoth she ; ye see well how your company burns. What 
are ye? I am the king, quoth he. Haste ye, quoth she, 
and get you into other apparel, and come to the queen. 



And the Duchess of Berry had somewhat comforted her 
and had showed her how she should see the king shortly. 
Therewith the king came to the queen, and as soon as she 
saw him, for joy she embraced him and fell in a swoon ; 
then she was borne to her chamber, and the king went 
with her. And the bastard of Foix, who was all on a fire, 
cried ever with a loud voice, Save the king, save the king 1 
Thus was the king saved. It was happy for him that he 
went from his company, for else he had been dead without 
remedy. This great mischief fell thus about midnight in 
the hall of Saint Powle in Paris, where there was two 
burnt to death in the place, and other two, the bastard of 
Foix and the Earl of Jouy, borne to their lodgings, and 
died within two days after in great misery and pain." 



ACT V. 



(1) Scene III. — The ruddiness upon her lip is wet.] 
However general the distaste for colouring sculpture in the 
present day, there can be no denying that the practice 
is of very high antiquity; since the painted low reliefs 
found in such profusion in the Egyptian tombs are usually 
assigned to the period B.C. 2400. In those remains there 
appears to have been the same intention as that shown in 
the coloured Monumental Effigies of the later middle-ages 
and the sixteenth century ; namely, the production of a 
perfect and substantial image of the person represented, 
painted with his natural complexion and apparelled "in 
his habit as he lived." In this view of the custom it may 
be divested of much of its bad taste ; especially if we 
suppose that really eminent artists were frequently emr 
ployed as well on the painting of the figure as on the 
modelling and carving it. The later commentators only 
have taken this the true view of the statue of Hermione ; 
though they have all pointed out the poet's error in repre- 
senting Giulio Romano as a sculptor. We are inclined to 
doubt, however, whether Shakespeare committed any mis- 



take upon the subject : when he calls the statue "A piece 
many years in doing, and now newly performed," he may- 
have remembered that Vasari, Romano's contemporary, 
has recorded that "over his paintings he sometimes con- 
sumed months and even years, until they became weari- 
some to him." And when he represents this artist as 
colouring sculpture, he may have recollected the same 
authority states, tbat Giulio Romano built a house for 
himself in Mantua, opposite to the church of St. Barnaba. 
" The front of this he adorned with a fantastic decoration of 
coloured stuccoes ; causing it at the same time to be painted 
and adorned with stucco-work within" It will be readily 
admitted that when the practice of making painted effigy 
portraits and busts was established, the greatest talent as 
well as the most inferior might be employed on the 
colouring ; and Vasari adds further, that Giulio Romano 
would not refuse to set his hand to the most trifling 
matter, when the object was to do a service to his lord or 
to give pleasure to his friends. 



257 



CRITICAL OPINIONS ON THE WINTER'S TALE. 



" ' The Winter's Tale' is as appropriately named as 'The Midsummer Night's Dream.' It is one of those 
tales which are peculiarly calculated to beguile the dreary leisure of a long winter evening, and are even 
attractive and intelligible to childhood, while, animated by fervent truth in the delineation of character 
and passion, and invested with the embellishments of poetry, lowering itself, as it were, to the simplicity 
of the subject, they transport even manhood back to the golden age of imagination. The calculation 
of probabilities has nothing to do with such wonderful and fleeting adventures, when all end at last in 
universal joy : and, accordingly, Shakspeare has here taken the greatest licence of anachronisms and 
geographical errors ; not to mention other incongruities, he opens a free navigation between Sicily and 
Bohemia, makes Giulio Romano the contemporary of the Delphic oracle. The piece divides itself in 
some degree into two plays. Leontes becomes suddenly jealous of his royal bosom-friend Polyxenes, 
who is on a visit to his court ; makes an attempt on his life, from which Polyxenes only saves himself by 
a clandestine flight ; — Hermione, suspected of infidelity, is thrown into prison, and the daughter which 
she there brings into the world is exposed on a remote coast ; — the accused queen, declared innocent by 
the oracle, on learning that her infant son has pined to death on her account, falls down in a swoon, and 
is mourned as dead by her husband, who becomes sensible, when too late, of his error : all this makes 
up the first three acts. The last two are separated from these by a chasm of sixteen years ; but the 
foregoing tragical catastrophe was only apparent, and this serves to connect the two parts. The 
princess, who has been exposed on the coast of Polyxenes' kingdom, grows up among low shepherds $ 
but her tender beauty, her noble manners, and elevation of sentiment, bespeak her descent ; the Crown 
Prince Florizel, in the course of his hawking, falls in with her, becomes enamoured, and courts her in 
the disguise of a shepherd ; at a rural entertainment Polyxenes discovers their attachment, and breaks 
out into a violent rage ; the two lovers seek refuge from his persecutions at the court of Leontes in 
Sicily, where the discovery and general reconciliation take place. Lastly, when Leontes beholds, as he 
imagines, the statue of his lost wife, it descends from the niche : it is she herself, the still living Her- 
mione, who has kept herself so long concealed ; and the piece ends with universal rejoicing. The 
jealousy of Leontes is not, like that of Othello, developed through all its causes, symptoms, and varia- 
tions ; it is brought forward at once full grown and mature, and is portrayed as a distempered frenzy. 
It is a passion whose effects the spectator is more concerned with than its origin, and which does not 
produce the catastrophe, but merely ties the knot of the piece. In fact, the poet might perhaps have 
wished slightly to indicate that Hermione, though virtuous, was too warm in her efforts to please 
Polyxenes ; and it appears as if this germ of inclination first attained its proper maturity in their 
children. Nothing can be more fresh and youthful, nothing at once so ideally pastoral and princely, as 
the love of Florizel and Perdita ; of the prince, whom love converts into a voluntary shepherd ; and 
the princess, who betrays her exalted origin without knowing it, and in whose hands nosegays become 
crowns. Shakspeare has never hesitated to place ideal poetry side by side of the most vulgar prose : ana 
in the world of reality also this is generally the case. Perdita's foster-father and his son are both made 
simple boors, that we may the more distinctly see how all that ennobles her belongs only to herself. 
Autolvcus, the merry pedlar and pickpocket, so inimitably portrayed, is necessary to complete the 
rustic feast, which Perdita on her part seems to render meet for an assemblage of gods in disguise." — 

SOHLEGEL. 
258 



°' b'.i 






•£«>.:! 










\fiffC 



/aaaaa.*' 



A ' *AAA/v 






aaAA-AA^I 



aaaAAaaai 



irv a . A~r^n ' • 

aa ^AA 1 * •-■' ; " * ■ 

^AA^..,. .AAAa.A.A*A*.*^/^^ 



^rajKteEiH 



ftn/\£fl 












**iA • 



m/w 



: ^ AA' 

AAAaA 






WAWaJaT^^ 



V^AA 






., \ a -\ /-. -. ^ _ 



fsfW**^ 



**&bA 









aaACM* 



iP' '■ a r"\ A 



''.aaWaMaAA^aa- 
a aaAaAa/Tiaaa/>/a/! 

A< >\ : - 



; AA^a. 






AAA; 



^W^/v^;^ 



> 



aAAA- 



^AA/v? A 'V ^$*^ A % -' ' 






hmAWaTTTauT. 



(A A . 






,aa' y 



^n ( AA^ D m^AAO^^000"^' 



A *, ~ A a. .. 



AAA * A' AA * ** 

A a r a ^ ° A ^ „ - ' " 



! 



fmm^*r 



A>AAf »«" ' 



.mM^^r^^ 






m^i^^^^ 



W .VaaAAaA 

"" " * ,a " 



,^..'' : 



-TI^JJaLALi ~ 



O . ~ « A * 



,A n n^ 



a a , ^ a a AaA. a aaaAv, 
,aAA/>A -^aaAa^' 






I 



y^*^AMfi 



# I A I 



IjSEm/W 



^A*A 



, vaa' \hnr* ^^.A' >,^ 



fframraMS 






aPaAa 



M.Mj 



0,Oa! ^.^Mi 



^AAAAAAArA 






-A-..AAA' ,nnr,n 

waaa/W iA ,A,*M 



"aaa^AAAaAAAA" 1 ? 



nnmAAAAAAAnii*AAAAAi «, a «>. . <*. * AA * a . a •«« 






-aA 



HAf 



A£(?A 






««».««'%«*,'' 



iftuvVi 



. * A 



A A, A .A 



ia/»0*«M -— «aa^aAaA„ 

> , , * ^ „ ^AAAA'AAA « S Ka, a*a *AA%a^.A* 



WFaJaTAf aTaT-TT^T-T.T-TT T^fT_T 



^^^ 



/^^Aa^^aaA^ 






iM&*P 



aaaA 



iiMtfafo^ 



•"' A AaaA AA A AAa,AAaA 



V A AAA 



1 ^MaA^ita2iu«*AA.A* . ' ' 



\ a A A A A P A A ^ r ' P a A A A ^ A A 



^%W^^A,A ft AA,^ 



A.aaAa/^ 



.AaAa' 



i a : /> A a . a, a 



.aAaa^ 



^.^^^S^^^^So^CWn^?^ 



. ^ A ,a;^^ 



° A a r\ <«\ ■ A a < 



^a a *^a»A^Ai 






NVYWwvmv>^ 



:••■ IA4A 



; ..,^a:»^>' 






Va/A. r 



2s I « av : a ^ A aaAS a 



A«ftyA?Oft(^^0WCHT 



^AAl>^ 





JiTni r 



^^m^^WAWAA 



a . , .. a a - a'^Qaa/2 r • 



A ^ - r rv 

A ^ A . AS. . C 



A.AnA^ 



^A*a"" 



AAAAAA A AAn A ^<AS^#in« 






'•^/^ 



, ., VAA^^^AAAAAAAAAAAA A ^^^ ftA ^ 
MMA^M&AMaaaju.a.a ..,',A.. - 



JAWTJAUawTt. 



;A*a A 



• ■ 

OH 



■ 



IB 



B 







■ 



■ 
■ 







HI 



